


Nothing But You On My Mind

by nonsensedarling



Series: Royal Brat AU [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, Bad Boy Harry Styles, Dirty Jokes, Drinking, Enemies to Lovers, Excessive use of italics, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Harry Styles Calls Louis Tomlinson Pet Names, M/M, Mentions of Recreational Drugs, PR Maven Louis, Plot Twists, Prince Harry Styles, Secrets, non-traditional royal happenings, passing mentions of homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:27:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 83,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22965409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nonsensedarling/pseuds/nonsensedarling
Summary: Louis Tomlinson is a PR manager hired to improve the image of royal bad-boy Prince Harry Styles. Unfortunately for him, that means being faced with the Prince's constant innuendos, incessant dirty jokes, and relentless flirting. Louis just wants to make it to Princess Gemma's coronation; once she's crowned Queen, his contract is up and he never has to see the Prince again.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Series: Royal Brat AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1880719
Comments: 335
Kudos: 2665
Collections: HL Royalty Fic Fest 2019/20





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Nothing But You On My Mind](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25532419) by [malishka1011](https://archiveofourown.org/users/malishka1011/pseuds/malishka1011)



> Things to Note:  
> I did some vague research on Public Relations, Royal Customs, and Press Conferences, but I didn't do That Much research and I took lots of liberties, so if anything is blatantly wrong, I do apologize.  
> Title is from Grace by Lewis Capaldi. 
> 
> Shoutouts:  
> As always, shoutout to my Bestie/Beta, Ultimate FanFic Reader, and All-Around Great Human, Jo ([dearlou](https://dearlou.tumblr.com/))! Thank you for the comments and feedback, and for making sure I actually write something instead of leaving [write something here] in the middle of it. And thank you for consistently sending me fic inspiration even when I don't want it because I absolutely do want it.  
> Thank you to Bridget for reading this when it was just under 50k and having exactly the reaction I wanted and giving me further inspiration to keep going.  
> Big props to Elizabeth (who has been very kind and asking me about it, even though I talk too much about my fics) and Lexi (who's had to sit with me at lunch and listen to me complain about how long this was getting for many months now). 
> 
> And last shoutout goes to HLRoyaltyFest mod, Chloe, for giving me an extention weeks before the actual end date because I knew I was going to be a disaster with this fic! When I signed up for this prompt, I thought it was going to be 20k; Jo laughed at me, and she was right.
> 
> Translations (7/9/2020)  
> Thank you for any interest in translating this work, but I'm not taking any more requests for translations at this time! I have already approved three users to translate this work into Spanish, Italian, and Russian, and that's about as many requests I can keep track of right now. I'll update this if/when I'm able to approve more. 
> 
> **************************  
> Prompt #32: Enemies to Lovers. Person A is begrudgingly hired as the new strategic PR advisor for the 'Royal Bad Boy' Person B and he's not going to take any shit from a spoiled, bratty Prince who's old enough to know better.  
> **************************

Louis might murder him. 

He didn’t even want this goddamn job. In fact, he’d said no to it. Twice. And the only reason he’d said yes the third time was because of Niall Horan, his old roommate and one of the current managing partners of Fireproof Public Relations. 

Niall hadn’t been able to find anyone else able (or willing) to take it on. He was in a pinch, and begged. And pleaded and begged some more. And when the begging hadn’t worked, said he’d pay him twice his normal rate and promised he’d never ask for another thing in his goddamn life. Not another gig, not 10p to buy a stick of gum. Nothing else. 

And Louis’d said yes.  _ Like an idiot. _ He hadn’t worked for Fireproof in over three years, and had to be put back on the payroll now just for this. 

For  _ this. _

He’s been doing this job for three weeks and Louis wants to make sure the Prince can never bat those beady green eyes at him ever again. Like he could flirt with Louis like that, like he could have his way with him like he does everyone else, like all it takes is some smooth talking and hair twirling to get Louis out of his clothes. Thinks that just because he’s  _ sooooo  _ good looking he can have whoever he wants. Fucking, as if. 

Not to brag, but Louis Tomlinson is a Grade-A hunk, if he does say so himself. He’s got nice eyes, nice teeth, a nice figure. He has a superb credit score, is killer at his job, and (most importantly) has a wicked way with words. 

So fuck Prince Harry Styles, because of the two of them, one of them made that fucking twat Tom Holland seem likeable, and it sure isn’t the one of them who’s currently trying to flirt with a  _ married  _ reporter next to her  _ husband  _ who was staring  _ daggers _ into the side of his head. 

“And would you say the transition to taking some of your sister’s duties is hard, Prince Harry?” The reporter asks. She’s smirking, like she knows exactly what she’s doing. Because of course she does. Louis just barely holds back from rolling his eyes.

The Prince has been leaning against the podium this entire time, but somehow he shimmies even further forward to say, “Oh, I’d say it’s painfully hard, Mrs. Lavine. I’m positively  _ aching  _ from the weight of it _.”  _

There are flashes of cameras, capturing the Prince’s lascivious smirk from a variety of angles. 

“Yes,” Louis says, forcing an easy smile. “Prince Harry has been very concerned with getting everything right as Queen Anne starts preparing Princess Gemma to take over the throne. He wants to be the best advisor he can be for his sister. Next question?”

Louis pointedly ignores the reporter’s husband and is just about to call on a studious-looking lad towards the back of the group (they always have such sweet, poignant questions, and Louis is looking for someone who will ask them the specifics on some policy changes for once) but he’s interrupted by the most infuriatingly, insufferable— 

“Yes! Mr. Lavine!” Prince Harry calls out. “Your question?” He smiles cloyingly at the man. 

“Thank you, Prince Harry.” Mr. Lavine grits his teeth and tries to force himself to look polite. He hasn’t had quite as much practice at it as Louis has. “What would you say to your subjects who read all the scandal surrounding you in the papers, who say you’re nothing but a womanizer?”

The Prince brings a hand to his chest, and looks dismayed. “Mr. Lavine, I’d have to say that the papers get that all wrong about me.”

Fucking finally, Louis thinks. 

But then the Prince’s smile gets impossibly more devilish and he leans forward again. “I don’t limit myself to just women.”

Raised voices and more camera flashes. Louis maintains his composure, save for the clenched fist he’s got shoved inside his trouser pocket. 

He smiles calmly and speaks into the mics as he says, “And just like Prince Harry’s open-mindedness within his own personal life —which, I should remind you is not the point of this press conference— he is open-minded about policy changes that need to be made to our country’s constitution. Perhaps we could ask a question about one of those, hm?”

More shouting, more flashes, more ignoring Louis. He’d expect it from the press, but it doesn’t get on his nerves like it does when it comes from the Prince, who doesn’t even look at Louis as he leans forward on his elbows and smiles pretty for the cameras. 

And somehow, Louis’ll bet at least half of them will have a positive spin on the Prince’s forward flirtation today, as they always do. Probably label it  _ refreshingly candid  _ or  _ full of spunky personality _ . 

But that’s not why Louis was hired, so it’s another one gone bad in the books. 

They wrap up with the press, both smiling but neither of them natural. When they get back through the press room door, Prince Harry finally looks at him and lets his face drop into something less maniacally provocative. 

“I think that went well, don’t you?” the Prince asks. 

“Exceedingly,” Louis says. And he almost gets away with the hint of sarcasm, but of course it doesn’t go unnoticed. 

“Ooo, did I finally strike a nerve?” he asks. 

“There are no nerves to strike, Your Highness.”

The Prince takes a delicate step forward so that there’s only half a step between them. “Oh, now, don’t lie to me.” He wraps his arms around Louis’ neck, wrists crossed behind Louis’ head, and slouches so they’re near eye-level. Louis looks pointedly away, over the Prince’s shoulder. “Thought you were going to be honest with me, Darling?” he purrs. 

Louis succeeds in not rolling his eyes, but only just. “Please remove your hands from my body.” He can see the Prince’s eyes gleam from his peripheral, and resists the urge again. 

“My hands aren’t on your body.” He leans further into Louis’ space and drops his voice to just above a whisper. “Trust me, you wouldn’t ask me to take them away if they were.” 

Louis finally makes eye-contact and gives a tight-lipped smile. “And trust me, if you don’t back up in five seconds, I’m going to slap you so hard, you’ll have to learn how to walk backwards because your head will be permanently facing your arse.”

“Hm,” the Prince says, like he’s considering it. “Always wanted to see what my arse looked like with my own eyes.” Then he pulls away. “I know how delicious it looks in the mirror. Would you like to give it a look? Tell me if it’s worth the trouble?”

Louis really does roll his eyes then. “You’ve got another conference in an hour. I’ve written notes for you, please actually read all of them this time. I know you can, since you decided to make a found poem out of my last one.” 

Prince Harry breaks out into what can only be described as the goofiest smile in existence as he snorts a laugh and says. “But they enjoyed it, didn’t they? Think even you were impressed that I’d made it into a limerick.”

“Just because a poem is dirty doesn’t make it a limerick.”

“No, but the AABBA format does.” He pronounces it like  _ ABBA _ , and Louis has a hard time not socking him in the jaw and telling him to never say the name of his favourite band ever again. 

“ _ An hour. _ Do I need to mind you until then, or will you show up on time?”

The Prince blinks slowly at him, and the provocativity is back. “I think I need a minder. Probably someone who can spank me if I’ve been naughty.”

Louis schools his features and tries not to make it obvious how much he wants to put his face in his hands and shout. “While the idea of smacking you around does sound appealing, it was a rhetorical question because I have a pressing matter to deal with before the conference. Behave.”

He steps to the side to make his way around the Prince, but his path is blocked by  _ His Highness,  _ still grinning like a cheshire cat. “What if I threatened to go back out there and kiss Mrs. Lavine, hm? Right in front of everyone. Would your matter still be pressing enough to not try and stop me?”

Louis actually laughs at that in one loud push of air out of his mouth. “Please, by all means, go back out there. You’ll get punched right in the face by Mr. Lavine if you do, and it’ll bring me great joy.”

He tries to step around him again, but again, the Prince moves in his way. “Maybe I’ll snog  _ him  _ a bit then, instead,” he says, licking his lips. “I do love me a feisty boy.”

Prince Harry looks at him pointedly, like it means something. 

It doesn’t. 

The Prince combs one of his big hands through his long curls as he waits for Louis’ reaction, but Louis will be damned if he gives him one. 

“Have at it. The photographers will have already left to prep for the other conference by now, so anyone that wants it in the paper will have to actually write those thousand words themselves.”

Louis looks at him and raises his eyebrows as if to say  _ your move _ . The Prince bites the inside of his cheek, steps out of his way, and lets him pass without more fuss. 

Back in his room, Louis finally does let out a little shout, just to get it out of his system. He has two more press conferences to get through today and then he’s going to take a long shower in total silence. No sounds of camera clicks, no annoying voices in his head. One quiet night in before a big night out. 

Tomorrow, he’s going out with one of his mates who’s a permanent fixture here in London to blow off some steam. (And hopefully find someone to hook up with. It’s been too long since he’s gotten laid and this job is making his last thread of sanity wear thinner and thinner.) Some release would be good. 

He calls his mum ( _ yes Your Highness, _ Louis says in his head,  _ my mum  _ is  _ more important than attempting the seemingly-impossible task of keeping your willy in your pants for just five goddamn minutes, even if you don’t think so _ ). 

And then he shakes himself out of it, because he has too many fake conversations with the Prince in his head as it is already; he doesn’t need to bring his mum into it. 

After he’s hung up with her, he calls Liam to confirm they’re on for tomorrow night and to figure out where to meet him. It’s not like he’s planning on  _ sneaking  _ out of the palace (he’s a grown-fucking-man and someone who is paid to deal with the Prince’s public image, not be his keeper) but if he isn’t discrete about his exit, he could incur more questions than he wants. 

He and Liam decide on Up All Night, a well-known club in the area that stays open until 5am, specializes in dancy-techno beats, and has a signature drink called the Killer Kiss Cosmo (which is just like a regular cosmo, but you pay 20 quid for it and the bartender gives you a smooch on the cheek when he serves it) (or well, sometimes  _ she  _ does, but it’s not worth Louis ordering it if it’s a  _ she  _ who’s slinging the drink). 

The hour passes much too quickly, and Louis groans before making his way down to Press Room C. He finds the Prince standing looking down at his mobile and smiling. When he hears Louis come into the room, he puts it in his pocket and his eyes light up. 

“Oh no, what did you do?” Louis asks as he approaches him. 

“Nothing,” the Prince says. But he doesn’t look offended like he usually does if Louis accuses him of something he didn’t do. 

On the other hand, he doesn’t look offended like he usually does if Louis accuses him of something he  _ did  _ do. 

“Sure,” Louis says, eyes widening for a moment as he nods twice. 

The Prince just shrugs, like he couldn’t be bothered. “Since there was no one to mind me, I called a bird and had her talk me off. Guess it’s just the post-orgasm glow.”

Louis makes a disgusted face for one second before he remembers to keep his composure. It’s his job. 

“Right well, hopefully that means your sex drive is taking a well-needed break while we talk to the press about  _ policy change _ . Do you hear me?  _ Policy. Change _ .”

The Prince scoffs. “My sex drive never takes a break.”

“Okay, well, it’s good to know your ears work, we’ll just have to fix the selective hearing problem.”

“Sorry, what was that?” The Prince asks, looking too confused for it to be genuine. 

“Ha-ha, you’re very funny.”

“It’s about time you noticed.”

“And it’s about time we answered some questions on —repeat after me—  _ policy change.” _

“Policy change, policy change,” the Prince repeats, tapping a finger against his lips, like he’s thinking. “Ah yes, I remember why I keep forgetting it! Because it’s so boring.” 

“Boring and fundamental, as all politics are. You should know this by now, Your Highness.”

“I should also know what the inside of your mouth feels like by now, and yet...”

It almost catches him off guard, how dirty the Prince can be. How casually he can say things that would make Louis blush or slap a man, given a different set of circumstances. 

But Louis’ been here for a few weeks and he’s used to the crudeness, even if it does seem to be getting worse by the day. 

He smiles tightly and says, “Keep it up, and you’ll know what the inside of the infirmary is like before the day is out.” And then he holds out his arm in a gesture that the Prince should make his way into the press room. 

The Prince pauses for a moment, eyes lingering all over Louis’ face with a soft smirk, before he dutifully turns around and walks into the room. 

In fairness, Harry does bring up policy change. It’s unfortunate that he says it in reference to propose changing policies at universities that say professors can’t be in relationships with students. 

Louis has to think a beat longer than usual before coming up with a response to that one. (“Prince Harry believes that love is love, under any and all circumstances. Obviously, LGBTQA+ issues are close to his heart, which can be most challenging during time at uni, and stifling any relationships that could express this ideal should be heartily debated before we close ourselves off to any possibilities.”) 

It wasn’t his best, but it reroutes the discussion well enough and catches the Prince off guard so he answers two questions honestly (and quite brilliantly) on same-sex marriage laws being added into the constitution (Louis actually feels kind of proud when he references a point made in one of the notes he’d given him to read). But that’s all before the Prince realizes he is actively engaging in political discourse, and then promptly begins flirting with the closest camera man, beckoning him closer to ‘ _ get his good side _ ’. Louis stops him from reaching out a hand to pan the camera down to his crotch, but only just in time. They end the conference a few minutes early, after that. 

By the end of the following press conference, Louis has nail-prints on both his palms from squeezing his hands into fists so tightly, but they both go much better than the first, so he’ll call it a win. Two out of three is more than fifty percent, which he now counts as a win. That’s his threshold. Louis can’t believe how low his standards have gotten. 

“Two more weeks,” Louis mumbles to himself, pulling at the knot in his tie. He leans against the wall outside of the Press Room B and sighs. “Just two more weeks.”

He hears some low chuckling and turns his head to the right to see the Prince is staring at him, arms crossed, as he leans against the banister. 

“Two weeks until Gemma’s coronation,” he says. But he doesn’t offer anything else. 

“Two weeks until the end of this,” Louis clarifies. He pulls his tie off completely. Most days he loves being in a full suit, but the tie’s just a bit too much for him today. Feels stifled. 

Louis runs his hands over his face. “Fucking Niall Horan,” he mutters. He straightens up and looks over at the Prince who’s still just staring at him. Murderous fucking stare, why doesn’t he learn to control his goddamn face. “Alright, we’re done for today. There’s breakfast with the Queen and Princess tomorrow morning, where a French diplomat will be interviewing all three of you. It’s informal, but there will be a camera crew, so be aware.”

“Could we swap out the diplomat with a French boy, instead,  _ Louis _ ?”

“No, I’m afraid not, Your Highness.”

The Prince pushes off the staircase railing and steps forward until he’s hovering on the edge of Louis’ personal space. 

“You know,” he says, “I’ve told you before you can call me Harry.”

“And I’ve told you before,  _ Your Highness _ , it would be inappropriate to address you so informally.” 

“Although,” the Prince continues, as if Louis hadn’t spoken. “There is one particular scenario where I’ve dreamt of you calling me that.” He takes another half-step forward, effectively breathing in Louis’ air and forcing Louis to breathe his. He leans forward to whisper, “Would you like to guess what it is?”

Louis doesn’t have to guess. The Prince had told him, outright, on his third day on the job  _ when, where  _ and  _ why  _ he’d want Louis to call him  _ Your Highness _ and it had made Louis flush so fiercely he’d had to fake needing the loo until it passed. It was when his first layer of professionalism cracked, and he decided he needed to be as mean to Prince Harry Edward Styles of England as he could manage, while still being at least vaguely polite. It was the only way. 

“No,” Louis says, instead of reminding the Prince of their past encounter. “I’ll see you tomorrow at 9:00 am.”

Louis promptly turns around and takes the long way back to his room so he doesn’t risk running into the Prince again. 

***

Morning comes too quickly. It always comes too quickly, but today especially, Louis finds himself rushing to put on his suit and reorient himself with the notes he’d written for this interview.  _ Marseille de Cambon, forty-seven years old, husband and four kids who just moved back to France in preparation for de Cambon’s end of term next month, politically moderate but surprisingly very left leaning on a few major issues... _

Louis’ in a navy suit with a burgundy tie today. He does his best to coordinate his outfits with the kinds of work he’s got going on, and he’s found favouring the interviewer’s country’s colours never hurts. He’s not sure it helps all that much, especially with the Prince...acting as he does, but it usually garners him a knowing smile at the very least. 

He makes his way down to the Tea Room (where the breakfast interview will take place) and waits outside on the plush white sofa. Unfortunately, despite the name, Louis has had to forego his own tea this morning because he was running late. But that’s okay. He can make it through a couple of hours without it. He has before and he was only mildly cranky at the end. 

The Prince joins him only a couple of minutes later, just a minute before 9:00 am. He may be a pain in the arse, but at least he’s a punctual one. 

“Good morning, Your Highness.”

“Good morning indeed,” the Prince says, looking him up and down. 

Practically leering at him, the Prince moves to sit directly beside Louis on the sofa. Louis stands up and moves away just as he does, and the Prince’s smirk turns into an oddly large grin instead. 

“Did you look at the notes I gave you yesterday?” Louis asks, doing his best to ignore whatever is happening on the Prince’s face altogether. 

His Highness crosses one leg over the other and lays his arms along the back of the sofa, thumbing the material slowly with his right hand. “I looked at something you had yesterday.”

“Focus,” Louis says. “Do you know what to expect or not?”

“From you? Never.”

Louis closes his eyes and breathes deeply. Two more weeks, he thinks. Thirteen days. 

“Madame Marseille de Cambon. Mother of three girls and one boy, all under fifteen years old. Husband used to be a fashion designer for Chanel - use that maybe. Connect it to your love of fashion, I think she’ll like that. She’s very big on climate change right now, so that’ll most likely be the main topic today.”

The Prince hums noncommittally. 

“Are you listening?” Louis asks, not looking up from his notes. 

“Unfortunately,” he says. “Shouldn’t you be having this talk with Gemma?”

“Princess Gemma has her own PR team and, unlike you, doesn’t need to be coached so exhaustively between each and every interview.” 

“Mmm right. You’re all mine,” His Highness says, and Louis looks up, only to show him how thoroughly unamused he is by his superfluous comments. 

The Prince is unphased, just keeps smirking at him and flitting his eyes all over Louis’ face and body. 

“You do work very hard,” the Prince coos. And maybe it would sound like a compliment or an apology or  _ something else  _ if it were any _ one _ else, but there’s something in his tone that makes Louis feel like the Prince isn’t talking about his PR work. “You should let me buy you a drink. To say thank you.”

“I don’t have drinks with my clients,” Louis answers easily. 

“I’d say we’re more coworkers,” he offers, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward. His long hair falls forward a bit, big curls waving along the sides of his face. 

Louis actually scoffs at that and is about to say something mean (like  _ then you’re the most incompetent coworker I’ve ever had _ ) when the Tea Room door opens. Louis looks over to see a maid propping it open so she can wheel in her cart of flowers and whatever else needs to be used to finish setting the room. 

He sighs. “As your  _ coworker, _ ” Louis says, mostly evenly. “I’d ask you to put in some work on this interview.”

The Prince hums, standing and walking over to Louis. “I love putting in the work,” he says, dropping his voice even lower than it normally is, which Louis is almost impressed by, seeing as his voice is the deepest, most morbid thing he’s ever heard in his life. “I think you’ll find I’m an exceptional partner in lots of things. I even love to put in  _ all  _ the work while my partner just lies there and takes it.” There’s a small pause. “Apologies,  _ relaxes  _ is what I meant to say.”

“I’m sure it is,” Louis says, checking himself internally so his face remains as neutral as possible. He will not let the Prince get under his skin. He won’t. “And while all of that is fascinating, Your Highness, I’d like to see work put into the interview you’ve got in twenty minutes.”

The Prince smiles wide again. “Alright,” he says. “Give it to me. Nice and slow, though. It’s been a while.” He winks. That motherfucker actually  _ winks. _

They make it through interview prep. The Prince actually listens and asks a few follow up questions about her politics, which is refreshing. Unfortunately he also asks Louis unhelpful and off-topic follow up questions like  _ what’s your favourite position? I mean, your position on the matter  _ and  _ is global warming the only way I’ll get to see what’s under that suit of yours? _

Queen Anne and Princess Gemma come down to the Tea Room five minutes before the interview is set to start and they smile kindly at both the Prince and Louis. Louis feels a lovely warmth in his chest at that. If there’s one good thing that’s come from this job, it’s knowing that the people leading this country truly are lovely and want to do what’s right for their people. Louis genuinely believes that. 

“Mr. Tomlinson,” Queen Anne says, smiling at him. She’s dressed in a bright red skirt suit, French flag pin carefully attached to her lapel. 

“Your Majesty,” Louis responds, bowing. And then, turning to Princess Gemma and bowing again, “Your Highness.”

“I hope my baby brother hasn’t been giving you too much trouble,” Princess Gemma offers. She gives him a kind smile as she nervously smooths over her knee-length pale blue dress. 

Before Louis can answer, the Prince butts in. “Louis can handle me.”

Louis’ smile tightens and he doesn’t say anything. Princess Gemma shakes her head and rolls her eyes a bit. Louis trusts her with everything implicitly. 

They make their way into the room and Queen Anne immediately notices something amiss. “Oh, there’s only four settings,” she says, looking around, and then at Louis. “I’ll ask for another one.”

“No need, Your Majesty,” Louis says. “I won’t be joining the interview.”

Louis suspects the only reason he doesn’t see a look of panic take over her face is from years of media training. She keeps her smile in place but says, “Is that wise?”

Wise...probably not, but necessary, yes. 

“Madame de Cambon has requested only the royal family be present.”

Her Majesty laughs a little. “I’m sure she won’t mind.”

Louis is shaking his head. “She asked specifically that no advisors and no public relations representatives be in frame with you.”

The Queen furrows her brow a little. “Do you think…?”

Louis shakes his head. “I think she’s thinking of the way it’ll look on camera, with the three of you and her. That and we’ll have time to proof the final video before it airs. I’m not worried. Or, not more worried than usual,” he jokes. “It’ll all be fine.”

Queen Anne reaches out and clasps one of his hands and holds it in both of hers, laughing a little. “Thank you, as always.” Her smile and earnest gaze remind him of his own mum, just a bit. It’s made him feel a little more homesick the longer he’s been here. 

Louis just shakes his head and waits for the Queen to slip her hands away. It always feels a little overwhelming, to be thanked like that, especially when Louis doesn’t really deserve it. The Prince’s political image has only improved marginally since Louis’ been here, not anywhere near the 15%, increase he boasted when he started. 

The Diplomat walks in a moment later, TV-ready smile on her face, followed by a camera crew. She walks straight to Queen Anne and curtsies before taking the Queen’s hands in her own, like they’re old friends. Louis is sure they’ve only met a few times before, but he shakes away the thought. People tend to get either too friendly or too formal with royalty, in his experience. He’s still not sure how to balance the line himself.

Madame de Cambon moves on to greet Princess Gemma next, tucking a piece of blonde hair behind her ear and chatting to the Princess in a bright voice. Her accent is fairly light after spending more than ten years at the French embassy in London, but it still has a certain airy quality to it. 

Louis doesn’t hear what’s being said, however, because suddenly the Prince is murmuring close to his ear. “I’m ready to put in the work for you, Louis,” he purrs from beside him, leaning forward a little. “Will you put in the work for me, after?”

Louis just continues to watch the two women chat, and Queen Anne as she thanks one of the servers who’s setting down plates of scones and bowls of fruit. 

“I’ve already put in my work, Your Highness. You held the work in your hands just outside.”

And it was obviously the wrong thing to say, because the Prince makes a delighted sound as he leans closer, lips brushing against his ear, one hand lightly tracing down Louis’ forearm as he whispers, “Think I’d rather hold this work in my hands tonight. It can still be outside, if you’d like. I’m nothing if not adventurous.” 

Louis bites his tongue to keep himself from shouting and throwing the Prince through the wall. He’s trying to think of something biting that will get him off his metaphorical back (and physically off of his side) when he’s saved by Madame de Cambon turning to them in order to greet the Prince. 

“Prince Harry!” she says, French accent somehow stronger this time as she opens her arms to him. 

The Prince wastes another beat of time before he turns away from Louis and smiles that charming smile. Fucking prick. 

Louis looks down and stretches his neck to get the feeling of the Prince’s breath off of him without actually rubbing his hands over his ear and throat. 

“Madame de Cambon!” The Prince returns. “How wonderful it is to see you. I must say you look positively ravishing.” 

The Diplomat tilts her head and waves him away, like she’s embarrassed by the compliment, but there’s a mischievous twinkle in her eye as she walks forward. Louis is expecting her to shake the Prince’s hand like she had with the Queen and Princess, but instead she places two hands on the Prince’s biceps and leans forward for a two-cheek kiss. If the Prince is surprised he doesn’t show it. Louis sees de Cambon squeeze her hands a little around the Prince’s muscles and she pulls away. 

Great. He has this to worry about now. 

“Shall we?” de Cambon asks. And they all take their seats around the table. 

The cameras have been on since the moment the Diplomat came in, but there’s more action now that they’re seated. A producer or assistant directs the set up of all five cameras so they can focus on individual faces and a wide shot of the whole table. 

They talk about the spread in front of them, what kind of breakfast they prefer, and who loves or can’t stand clotted cream. They keep it light for ten minutes before de Cambon segues into British customs and traditions, which then leads them to the nontraditional way they’re going about this coronation. 

“Obviously, this is quite a different set of circumstances for a coronation than we’ve seen,” de Cambon starts. “What made you decide to want to step down, Your Majesty?”

Queen Anne nods and takes a sip of her tea thoughtfully. “I love leading this country,” the Queen says, “I love my people and I would do it forever, if I could. But I came into this position when I was quite young, only nineteen and just after my father died. In many ways I wasn’t ready for the responsibility and had to play catch up for many years to find out how I could rule effectively.”

“You’ve been a very effective leader,” the Diplomat says, smiling encouragingly at her. 

“Thank you, you’re too kind,” the Queen says with a polite smile. “I’ve ruled for thirty-three years, and I’ve cherished my time, but I believe it’s time for a new hand to lift us up as a country. We’ve been preparing Gemma for five years now, and I have no doubt in my mind she’ll be more than I ever could be for our people.” 

Louis nods as he watches them, one hand subconsciously tapping against his bottom lip. 

“In what way?” the Diplomat asks, not unkindly. More urging, trying to pull an answer out. 

The Queen turns to look at Gemma and her eyes crinkle as she smiles. “My daughter is the kindest person I’ve ever known. All of her decisions are made with thought and care after listening to as many perspectives as she can. She’s bright and has so much love for the people of England. She will lead with our Prime Minister and do what’s best and right.” 

De Cambon nods and smiles at Princess Gemma then. 

“Your mother has the kindest words for you, Your Highness!” she says. “Are you feeling prepared to take over in just a couple weeks’ time?”

“Yes, very prepared,” the Princess says. “I’ve been working towards this for many years now, and nothing brings me more satisfaction than doing everything I can for the people.” 

“So is that your main driving factor, your satisfaction?” the Diplomat asks, slight biting tone under the layer of sweetness. 

And...Louis is a little stunned. They’re less than thirty minutes into the hour-long interview and the switch seems so jarring. He’s hoping the Princess won’t have heard it. 

But she has, by the way there’s a slow pink blush pulling at the tops of her cheeks. She takes a sip of her tea to steady herself, it looks like. She’s not going to let it get to her. Good. 

“My desire to help people has always been my motivation,” the Princess says, placing her teacup down and folding her hands neatly in her lap. “But I wouldn’t be telling the truth if I said it didn’t bring me joy.” 

Louis nods to himself. Well done. 

The Prince has been fairly quiet throughout the interview. The last time he spoke was to say his favourite tradition was Sunday roast. Louis looks now only to find the Prince staring at him, a somewhat dazed look on his face. When they lock eyes, the Prince blinks a few times and then smirks. 

He brings his spoon, coated with cream, up to his mouth and kitten licks some of it off, never breaking eye-contact. 

Louis can feel his ears heat a little. Anger flushes down his neck as he looks to the women at his table and the cameramen around them to see if anyone is paying him any mind, but it doesn’t seem like they are. And when Louis looks back, the Prince looks like he’s tuned in to what the Diplomat is asking Princess Gemma. 

Louis huffs, earning him a confused glance from one of the producers. 

“And Prince Harry,” de Cambon says, accent slightly stronger again. She leans over the table a little to brush her fingers against the material along the Prince’s arm. “Do you agree with your sister's stance when it comes to gun control?”

Ah fuck, Louis thinks. Louis’d spent so long writing out notes for her climate change questions only to be side-swiped with armed weapons. Fitting, he guesses. 

They’ve only gone over this point a few times and Louis bites his thumb nervously. They can always cut this part out, if he says something stupid, but still. 

“Whole-heartedly agree that we need stricter regulations on any weapons sold. And not just in the U.K. but across the globe,” Prince Harry says, nodding seriously at de Cambon. “As Gemma said, it’s our duty to make sure the people feel safe in their schools, their work, their society —and that means having the people wield knowledge, not semi-automatics.”

Queen Anne has had years of practice at being watched while doing interviews like this, so she looks on and nods, like that’s exactly what she’d been expecting him to say, but Princess Gemma is a little more responsive. Her whole face lights up as she smiles at her brother. She looks more than proud. Louis can’t help but smile a little, too. That was...well, it was a great response. Not perfect, of course, but far from the worst. 

The Diplomat nods. “Very well put, Your Highness. Back to your thoughts on keeping the people safe, do you have strong feelings on the GMOs and pesticides used in our food sources?”

Prince Harry laughs a little. “I have strong feelings on a lot of things, Madame de Cambon, but I’m not sure I’m knowledgeable enough on the subject to give you a suitable answer. Gemma’s done a lot of work with local farmers these last couple of years, though, she might be able to say more.”

Princess Gemma opens her mouth to say something, but de Cambon cuts her off preemptively, still focused on the Prince.

“I know you’re a big proponent of shopping local,” de Cambon says, patting Prince Harry’s arm again, letting the touch linger subtly at the side of the table, away from prying eyes of the camera. 

Louis notices Princess Gemma raise her head just a hair and breath in and out subtly, keeping her smile in place. Prince Harry’s eyes flicker down to de Cambon’s touch but only for half a second before he’s making eye-contact with her again. 

De Cambon continues, “Where’s your favourite place to go in the city?”

Prince Harry leans forward, eyes gleaming as he rests his forearms on the table. “There’s a lovely little bar on the northside, only seats about twenty,” he says. “Very dark, mostly lit by old-fashioned lights and candles.”

“That sounds so romantic,” the Diplomat says, blinking slowly and putting on a shy smile. 

The Prince leans forward a bit more. “It’s very private. No one really bothers you there. You’re free to do whatever you’d like, really. Be whoever you’d like. As long as you’re quiet about it.” 

His eyes flicker over to Louis very briefly. So briefly, he’s not even sure it happened. 

The Diplomat leans forward as well. “Do you ever take anyone with you when you go?”

The Prince smiles and licks his lips a little. “Only someone very special.” 

Oh fucking christ. It looks like they’re about three seconds from mauling each other on the table. Queen Anne’s eyes immediately go to Louis and Louis, quite frankly, would like to groan out his frustrations very loudly. Instead he huffs a little again. No one reacts this time. 

The main PR team isn’t here because the Queen and Princess know how to fucking handle themselves during an interview and the producer looks overjoyed at this material, so they’re not going to step in. Louis can’t just demand they move on though, so he has to think fast to get them away from whatever the fuck is going on. 

He notices the chef peeking in through the door, and Louis motions wildly for her to come in. She looks surprised, but pleased as she steps through. Louis continues to nod, gesturing that she should go up to the table. So she does, and asks everyone how they are enjoying breakfast. The Prince breaks eye-contact and smiles up at Chef Arguinano and compliments her for half a minute on the mini quiches, which she’d spent all morning working on. 

The conversation gets lighter when the Chef leaves, and then the Diplomat dives into some more political questions, ones Louis was expecting her to ask (fucking finally) but she doesn’t ask the Prince any more questions directly. 

The interview ends past time, but on an uplifting note from Princess Gemma about coming together to talk about important issues whenever we can, as it’s important to continuously have these discussions with newfound knowledge and perspective. 

De Cambon thanks them all for their time, saying a quick goodbye to Princess Gemma and a too-friendly one to Queen Anne. The Prince is talking to one of the servers, pointing at the scones but speaking too low for Louis to be able to hear what’s being said. When the server leaves, the Diplomat walks straight over to him and leans in a little too closely for Louis’ liking. 

He strides over to them quickly, before they can start planning any sort of rendezvous or whatever-the-fuck thing that would make Louis’ job twenty times harder. He doesn’t have time for it. 

“Your Highness,” he says. De Cambon doesn’t turn to look at him until the Prince does, and then it’s with a tight-lipped smile. “We’ve got another interview to prep for.”

There is no interview, but the Prince must not know that because he sighs forlornly before looking down at the Diplomat and shrugging sort of sadly. “Duty calls,” he says.

“I might have some follow up clarifications to the interview, Your Highness,” de Cambon says coyly, eyes back on the Prince, having decided apparently that she will resolutely ignore Louis. Which is okay, Louis doesn’t mind. It won’t stop him from ignoring her attempts to persuade the Prince into her  _ ménage à deux _ . A cheating one at that. What a nightmare that would be. 

De Cambon goes on, “Maybe you could give me a number so I can contact you directly.”

“No need,” Louis says. She doesn’t turn, just keeps looking at the Prince, but Prince Harry locks his eyes on Louis. “You can contact me if you need anything clarified and I’ll be happy to sort it out for you.” He holds out his business card between two fingers and waits for her to take it. 

She turns and smiles that TV-ready smile at him and gingerly takes the card. “Thank you,” she says, and she walks out of the room behind the last cameraman. 

And then it’s just the two of them. 

“You’re hot when you’re jealous,” the Prince says, smirking down at him. 

Louis slowly lifts his head to look at him, incredulous. “My God, can that head of yours get any bigger.”

“Well, I’d say it’s more of a shower than a grower,” the Prince says, grinning wickedly, “but I’m sure with the right coaxing we could make some magic happen.” 

Louis grinds his teeth a little. “Wrong head, Your Highness.”

“How about you?” the Prince asks, licking his lips. “Are you a grower or shower?”

“Could you, for five minutes, not try to flirt with anything that moves?”

“A grower, I’d say,” the Prince says, fully ignoring him. “Bet you like to get all worked up before you even start touching.”

Louis turns on his heels to get away from the Prince and this conversation, but his mistake is not saying anything, because the Prince just continues as he follows him. 

“You like to be teased, don’t you? Wait until you’re unbearably hard. Until you can’t hold yourself back anymore.” 

“Stop it,” Louis says, turning to face him.

The Prince’s eyes are sparkling and he’s standing much too close, as he always does, like he’s never heard of personal space. Or maybe decided he’s too good for it.  _ Personal space, no that’s something for normal people with boundaries.  _

“I know you do, you don’t have to pretend,” the Prince says, stepping even closer to him. Louis lets out a frustrated huff and turns away from him, otherwise he’ll punch him straight in the nose, and as much as he wants to, assaulting royalty probably isn’t the best move. 

“Thirteen more days,” Louis says, instead, rubbing his temples. “Just thirteen more days.”

Louis can feel the Prince’s body heat hoving just centimeters away. He chuckles, deep from the back of his throat, like it’s coming from the core of his body. “I’ve been meaning to ask,” he says, dropping his voice lower, swaying a little closer to Louis. “What’s our strategy after the coronation? Is it more interviews? More press conferences? Maybe going out to see the people? Think we’d have a lot of fun going to a pub or something, don’t you?”

“You can go to all the pubs you want, Your Highness, as long as your security detail approves it.”

“Yeah, but it’ll be so much better with you there, telling me off for flirting with the bartender.”

Louis shakes his head and puts a hand up to his forehead. He feels the headache coming along strongly now. “I’ll record a voice note for you and you can play it when you’re there. It’ll be the same, except I won’t actually have to see you ignore all my advice and suggestions.” 

“Oh, come on,” Prince Harry says, moving right up on him so that his chest is pressed against Louis’ shoulder. “I’ll buy you one of those fruity drinks you like and you can say mean things to me. I know how you like that.”

“In thirteen days, you can pay someone else to say mean things to you, Your Highness, I think there are even services for that.” He scoffs. “I’m sure the press would have a field day with that one.” But then he shrugs. “Won’t be my problem then, anyway. Think they’ve got someone flying in from New York to… help you.”

“I’d rather pay for  _ you  _ to… wait, what?” He pulls back, puts some space between them. “What do you mean?”

Louis rolls his eyes. “I’m not sure who it is, if that’s what you’re asking. Doubt they’ll tell you even if you ask someone who knows. I’m sure they don’t want you doing any research on them like you did on me.”

“I didn’t do any research on you.”

Louis rolls his eyes again. “Yeah, okay.” 

“You’re leaving after the coronation?”

Louis turns to look at him, eyebrows pulled together and ready to mock the ever-loving-shit out of the Prince for being so slow on the uptake (as politely as he can), but the look he’s giving just makes Louis sigh. It’s so confused, eyes searching all over Louis’ face like he’s trying to solve a riddle. He sighs instead. “Yes, as I’ve been saying for weeks.”

“I thought...I didn’t know that was a countdown to you  _ leaving _ ,” he says in dismay. “I thought that was, I don’t know, the end of phase one.”

_ “Phase one?” _ Louis asks. “What the fuck, are we in some sort of dystopian sci-fy? My countdown is for when I can finally get the fuck out of here and never see you again.” 

Louis realizes he’s just cursed at the Prince of England and slaps a hand over his mouth. “I apologize, Your Highness. That was out of line.”

But it doesn’t seem like the Prince cares about that at all. He’s got his thick eyebrows furrowed and his arms crossed now. “Where are you going after that?”

Louis shrugs. “Back home. My firm will probably have another job for me to do.” Whatever he ends up doing after this will be smooth sailing in comparison. 

The Prince seems to relax a little at that. Louis’ not sure why, so he just rolls his eyes and makes his way out of the room. 

“No interviews or press conferences tomorrow,” he calls out over his shoulder, “and it’s my day off. Don’t bother me.”

He made it through another day. And it’s officially less than two weeks until he can leave this godforsaken job. Thirteen, he thinks. Thirteen more days. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (EDIT: Just to clarify, I don’t think Tom Holland is a twat!)


	2. Chapter 2

Louis’ meeting Liam at 10pm, so he goes for a run in the palace’s fitness center and then takes his time eating dinner in the kitchen. Chef Arguinano talks to him about the interview a little bit, and she makes him his own little shepherd’s pie inside the smallest casserole dish Louis’ ever seen. They have a nice chat until it’s really time for her to start prepping the royals’ dinner and Louis slips out of the kitchen quietly to leave them to it. 

He has a nap before jumping in the shower to get ready. He stands naked, staring at his reflection for a little too long, at the bags under his eyes and the  _ It Is What It Is _ tattooed on his chest. He wants to roll his eyes at it, at the squiggly font and how lame it sounds to him now looking back at it. Tearing himself away from the mirror is easy after that. 

He debates his outfit choices, laments not bringing his entire wardrobe with him for these five weeks, and then decides simplicity is key. He pulls on black skinny jeans and a plain white shirt cuffed high on his arms to show his hard-earned muscles, and then molds his hair into a quiff (nightclubs are for sweating, and Louis’ hair and his forehead aren’t friends). 

Pausing before he actually leaves his room, he doesn’t hear anything (anyone) in the hall, so he slowly makes his way down the staircase, back through the kitchen and around the side of the palace to meet Liam who is waiting in a taxi on the main road. When he slides in, he tilts his head back against the seat in relief, and breathes out a laugh. Then he turns and gives Liam a quick cuddle. 

“It’s been ages, mate,” Liam says. “So glad you decided to grace me with your presence after three weeks in London.” 

Louis groans. “Genuinely, I wish I could be going out with you every night, Li,” he says. “But all these press conferences and breakfast meetings —who the fuck has a breakfast meeting with a royal bad boy, like don’t you  _ know  _ that’s not his scene?— they just make it hard to have a proper night out, you know what I mean?”

“I’m only messing, Lou,” Liam says with a kind smile. “How is the job, by the way?”

Louis groans again. “Nightmare.” 

Liam laughs. “That good, huh?”

“Lima, you have  _ no idea _ .” Louis takes a breath and then proceeds to tell Liam all about the last few weeks. How absolutely annoying and wretched the Prince is. How filthy his mouth is. How arrogant and  _ look at me I’m so pretty  _ he is. He scoffs and shakes his head. 

Liam responds with a noncommittal hum and shrug of his shoulders. 

“What?”

“Hm? Oh, nothing.”

“What, what is it? What are you  _ dying  _ to say?”

Liam laughs. He shrugs again and looks out the window as he says, “I guess… I don’t know, Tommo, sounds like the type of bloke you’d normally go for, is all. Half-surprised you haven’t tried to shag him.”

Silence. Liam whips his head to look at Louis. 

“Oh my god, have you shagged the Prince of England?” Liam looks like he could burst with joy. Louis’ eyes look up towards the rear view mirror to see if the taxi man has heard Liam’s fucking ludacris question. By his raised eyebrows and slightly open mouth, Louis’ going to take a wild guess and say he did. 

“For fuck’s sake, Liam, of course I haven’t! And don’t just go around saying things like that, or people are going to believe you and then it’s going to ruin my goddamn reputation.”

Liam looks a little remorseful and grimaces at the driver, who looks up in the mirror to make eye contact with both of them. “I heard nothing,” the man says. 

“No,” Louis corrects, leaning forward. “You heard that I’ve not slept with the Prince, nor would I ever. Print that in the bloody newspaper. Maybe it’ll finally get him to let me do my job.” Louis huffs out a breath and leans back. Then he leans forward again. “Scratch that, mate, you heard nothing, like you said.” He smiles a little ruefully and plops back down again, muttering, “Last thing I need is him trying harder.” 

“Sorry,” Liam says. 

Louis just shakes his apology off and says it’s no big deal, but he does pay the driver an extra fifty quid and nods meaningfully at him. Not a guarantee of course, but hopefully something to sweeten the night of a man who already wasn’t planning on running to the papers with some half-arsed gossip heard in the back of a cab. 

They queue up to get into Up All Night and chat a bit about Liam’s job. Then Liam blushes as he tells Louis about a girl named Sophia he’s gone on a few dates with this month. 

“Chuffed for you, Li!” Louis says. “Why didn’t you say? I wouldn’t have dragged you out to a club on the pull, we could’ve gone for dinner instead.”

“Nah,” Liam says, shaking his head easily. “We’re not official or anything, and I’m not looking to pull anyone, anyway. Besides, I mentioned it to her, and she said she was happy I was seeing a mate, and that doing our own things was good.” He smiles down at his feet as they move forward in the queue. 

“Ah,” Louis coos, smiling wide and nudging him with his shoulder. “You big softy. Can I meet her? Is it too soon?”

Liam thinks on it for a minute and then shrugs, looking genuinely unsure. “We’ll have to see. Maybe just before you leave. I don’t want to scare her off of anything.”

“Of course, mate. If I have to come back up to meet her in a few months, it’s just another reason to make time for visits, innit?”

Liam nods and smiles bashfully again. Louis can’t help but feel warm and fuzzy, watching his friend take a tentative step towards falling in love. 

Oof. Where are these sappy thoughts coming from? Louis thinks. He blinks himself out of them. Tonight is not about love, it’s about good old fashioned fucking, hopefully. And if not that, it’s about some sweaty, dirty grinding as he drinks too many cocktails. Even if it’s Liam who he needs to grind against, by God, there will be grinding. 

They make it into the club and the music seeps into Louis’ chest, and he feels the song in his heart before he recognizes it in his brain. He rocks back and forth and settles into the vibe. 

The place isn’t packed, yet, but there are a good amount of people. It looks like the dancefloor is just starting to fill up, and Louis thinks it’s perfect timing. They head over to the bar and wait patiently for their drinks. 

“What’re you having?” Liam shouts at him over the music. 

Louis scans the bar and finds a beautiful boy pouring rum into a shaker, smiling as he lifts and moves his arms to mix up the drink. His cheekbones could cut glass, Louis is positive. He licks his lips and raises his eyebrows quickly. Yeah, he’d definitely be happy with a kiss on the cheek from that one. 

He tries to point at Gorgeous Bartender as subtly as he can. “If it’s from him, a Killer Kiss Cosmo. If it’s from anyone else, a shot and a vodka redbull.” 

Liam laughs, but nods, and bobs his head so long that it turns into the beat of the song. Louis bobs along with him and starts moving his hips a little. The energy feels good tonight. He can already feel some eyes on him; he doesn’t think he’ll have any trouble pulling. 

Unfortunately, it’s not Gorgeous Bartender that comes over, but a very pretty woman with a very blunt-cut lilac bob and a kind expression on a ‘don’t you dare fuck with me’ face. She’s quick and has a heavy hand, so Louis decides he likes her, and if he can’t get to Gorgeous Bartender, he’ll try to order from her the entire night. 

They do their shots and then make their way into the crowd with their drinks. 

Louis sways along to the beat until he’s left with only ice cubes in his cup (which is taken from him quickly by a serious-looking floor guy). 

With nothing in his hands, Louis starts to lose himself in the music. In the process, he sort of loses track of Liam, but he knows they’ll find each other again. It’s too early in the night to lose his mate in the club. 

Barely a minute later, Louis feels a presence directly behind him. It feels purposeful, rather than the chaoticness of the other club-goers. It feels wanting and passionate, especially when large hands land on his hips, light and questioning. Louis looks down at them, and it’s dark, but he can see they’re large and the nails are painted black, and he’s happy enough with that for at least a song or two. 

Louis brings his hands on top of the ones on his body and pulls them forward a little so that the fingers are hooked and the hands are holding on to him, rather than resting there. After that, the person has no trouble knowing what to do, fitting themselves tightly against Louis’ back and grinding their hips into Louis’ arse. And —yep— that is unmistakably a semi-hard line of a cock rubbing up against his backside. It feels long and thick.  _ Jackpot.  _

Shimmying his hips back further, Louis lets himself get lost in the music, get lost in the feeling of a hands engulfing him, get lost in thoughts of snogging and humping and coming. 

One song bleeds into another which bleeds into another, and it seems the stranger’s hands are emboldened by the amount of time they’ve been dancing because they move upwards; one splays out across his abdomen and the other moves up to gently tilt Louis’ head to the side. And then there’s a mouth moving wetly and carefully over his neck and a hand rhythmically pulling Louis back onto him as hips push forward into his bum so they’re practically dry-humping on the dancefloor.

Yeah, this is what Louis needed, fuck. Just needed a body to move against, to get off with... to forget a bit. It doesn’t hurt that whoever it is behind him is moving their lips so skillfully it’s making Louis’ knees go weak. 

And that mouth keeps gliding along his neck, softly biting and then placing tongue-heavy kisses lightly over the indentations. He wants that tongue in his mouth now. So he turns around and pushes himself up onto his tip-toes, grasps at the base of the stranger’s long, thick, curly hair and moves his face up to try and connect their mouths. He sees green eyes in front of him just before they close, just before the stranger leans in to close the gap of their lips, just before he feels arms grasp fully around him in a tight hug, causing his back to arch and push his hips forward.

And just before they kiss, Louis’ eyes pop open wide and he turns his head to the side so lips connect with his jaw. He tries to push the man away as he says, “What the fuck?”

Undeterred, the lips come for his mouth again, eyes still closed, but one hand sneaking up to try and grab the back of Louis’ head (presumably to hold him still). Before that can happen, Louis pushes against his chest and wriggles himself back so he’s not trapped so tightly in his arms. Again he says, “What the fuck.”

The Prince opens his eyes and looks sort of dazed, hands still reaching out for Louis like he doesn’t know where he’s gone or why they stopped. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Louis spits out. 

Finally, the Prince blinks a few times and slowly drops his arms so he’s not touching Louis anymore. His smirk seems delayed. “I’m dancing,” he says. 

“Do you know that you can’t just come out to a club and dance?”

“Sure I can,” the Prince says. He moves his hips a little. “I’m doing it right now.” 

Louis wants to punch him. 

“Where the fuck is your team?”

The Prince tries to subtly nod at people in the crowd, people that are dancing, but make eye-contact with Louis and nod at him, probably having recognized him around the palace. And they were all just going to let him get tongue-fucked by the Prince in the middle of a night club. Louis clenches his teeth. Great. 

Louis’ body is still thrumming with want. His cock was starting to get hard in his pants and push somewhat uncomfortably against the zipper of his jeans. He puts his hand down to adjust himself automatically, and the Prince’s eyes track the movement. He looks elated. And for a moment it looks like he’s about to step into Louis’ space again, so he takes another half-step back (bumping into a stranger) and spits out, “Fuck off.” 

He turns and makes his way to the bar again. God, he needs twelve thousand more drinks. 

As he’s trying to shake himself out of it, Gorgeous Bartender steps in front of him behind the bar. He smiles and nods. 

“What can I get you?”

Louis is distracted by his brooding eyes framed by immaculate eyebrows, but only for a moment. He turns on his smile and his charm, leans across the bar and says, “From you? I think it’ll have to be a Killer Kiss Cosmo.” 

Gorgeous Bartender’s eyes light up. He scans Louis’ face, and Louis just lets him. 

“Sorry mate,” he says, then. “Can’t do a Cosmo.”

Oh. Louis falters and his smile drops a little. Alright.

Then Gorgeous Bartender laughs. “Oh, no, sorry! I’ve just run out of cranberry juice,” he says, searching Louis’ face again. “How about a Killer Kiss Kamikaze shot instead?”

Louis’ smile comes back in full force. “I could make that work, I think. And a shot of vodka, if you don’t mind, love.”

Gorgeous Bartender smirks and nods, moving away to get started on Louis’ drinks.

Louis sighs happily, and watches the man for a few seconds before he feels someone behind him again. He rolls his eyes and turns his head to the side as he says, “Leave me alone.”

Apparently, that means ‘come closer’ to the Prince, because it’s not a moment later until he’s pressed up against Louis’ backside again, whispering in his ear, “Stop being so sweet to me, or I’ll just have to take you home.”

Louis rolls his eyes. Firstly, no one should try whispering in a club, it’s much too loud. Secondly, the home he’s talking about is Louis’ home for the next two weeks, so it makes absolutely no sense. Thirdly, the Prince can fuck right off. 

“You can fuck right off,” he says and throws his elbow back so it colides with a hard wall of muscle. It earns him a grunt, but the Prince doesn’t budge off like Louis clearly wants him to. 

“Think you’re just mad you want me so much,” the Prince says. 

“Funny, thought I just told you to fuck off. Twice. In less than two minutes. Not sure how that translates into wanting you.”

It makes the Prince laugh, for some unknown reason, and he finally backs away from him. He settles in beside him, leaning up against the bar, grinning wildly down at Louis. Louis hopes his expression conveys just how unimpressed he is. 

“You come here often?” the Prince asks. 

Louis scoffs. “Shut the fuck up.”

The Prince laughs, bright and loud, left dimple popping out. “Oh, come on, Darling, I’m just trying to make conversation.”

“Can you go  _ try  _ to make conversation with someone else?”

The Prince shrugs, still smiling. “Why would I, when you’re here to sweet-talk me?”

Louis is just about to reply with something harsh and biting when Gorgeous Bartender appears in front of him, slotting himself in between Louis and the Prince. Louis is a bit surprised, but extremely happy as he’s handed his two shots. 

Louis doesn’t look over Gorgeous Bartender’s shoulder as he takes the vodka shot, but can’t help it when he takes a taste of the second. The Prince looks positively fuming, glaring down at the back of Gorgeous Bartender’s head. 

Focusing his attention on the beautiful man that’s smiling just in front of him, Louis grins and licks his lips. “It’s delicious,” he says. “What is this, again?”

“Kamikaze,” the man says, leaning against the bar some more, watching Louis take another sip. 

Louis looks down so he can look up at him through his lashes. “Oh, silly me, I thought it was something else. Killer...hm, killer something,” he pretends to ponder. They make eye contact again as Louis shoots it back. “Can you help me figure it out?”

“Of course,” the man says, leaning forward a bit, eyes flickering down to Louis’ mouth (that’s a pleasant turn of events) and Louis does the same to him. “Killer  _ Kiss  _ Kamahhhhhh!” he shrieks. 

Eyes widening, the man turns and pulls at the back of his black button-up to get it away from his skin. Louis sees darker patches on it, where it looks like it’s gotten wet. 

Louis looks up and makes eye-contact with the Prince, who looks saccharine-sweet as he smiles, holding up an empty martini glass. Where the fuck did he even get that?

“I’m so sorry,” the Prince says, reaching to his right and grabbing some napkins, handing them over. 

Gorgeous Bartender takes them, says “Oh,” looking bewildered, like maybe he doesn’t know if he should be customer-service-cool or just-got-a-drink-dumped-down-my-back-raging. Louis knows which one he's going with. 

“What the fuck is your problem?”

The Prince looks over at him innocently. “It was an accident.”

“Like shit it was.”

Gorgeous Bartender puts a hand on Louis’ upper arm (he doesn’t miss the gentle squeeze). Louis face softens slightly (and his cock hardens a bit). 

“It’s okay,  _ Prince Harry _ ,” Gorgeous Bartender says, slight tension in his voice. The Prince looks at him with a tight smile. “Can I get you another drink?”

The Prince smiles at him again. “A gin and tonic, thanks mate.”

The man nods, looks back and smirks at Louis, knocking two knuckles against the bar. “Guess I’ll have to give you double on your next round.” And then he walks back around to the other side of the bar.

A double kiss. Or maybe just a doubly dirty one. Louis can work with that. He smiles at the retreating form before looking at the Prince, hard. 

“The fuck is your problem?”

“It was an accident,” he repeats. 

“You’re so full of shit.”

The Prince doesn’t say anything more, just looks at Louis. Annoyed, Louis throws his arms out to his sides. “You’ve had your fun,” Louis says, “you can scurry along, now.”

Smiling, with nearly all his teeth showing, the Prince says, “Whenever you’re ready.”

“What?”

He shrugs. “My team saw you were here, and so they took the rest of the night off.”

“Your te— what? They absolutely would not!”

The Prince shrugs again. “Seems like they trust you to take care of me.”

Louis looks around, like someone’s going to come and tell him the Prince is joking. Or, really, he’s looking for any member of his security team that he recognizes so he can pass him off and bolt out of there. 

He sees no one he recognizes. 

He huffs out in frustration and then brings his hands over his face. After a few seconds, he removes them and schools his features into a television-ready smile directed at the Prince. The Prince grins fully at him, dimples and all. 

“You’re a grown man,” Louis says slowly. “And I don’t have time for your antics. Take care of  _ yourself _ .”

Then he turns and walks away. 

He finds Liam towards the stage, talking to the DJ. When he sees Louis, he smiles and opens his arms for him. Louis collapses into them and has a little scream. Immediately, one of Liam’s hands rub along his back. 

“You okay?” he shouts to him. 

“Fuck it all,” Louis shouts back. 

Liam doesn’t press any more, and just pulls Louis into him tightly. And this is why Louis loves Liam. Never asks questions when he knows Louis doesn’t want to talk about it. Always ready with a cuddle when he needs one. He’s like the perfect boyfriend. If only Liam were gay.

Liam pulls him out onto the dance floor for a few more songs. They’re upbeat and have a bass so deep it’s like they’re pulsing through Louis’ skin. No one comes up behind him this time. And even if they did, Louis’ got a firm eye on Liam now, to call him to his rescue if need-be. 

“You want another drink?” Liam shouts when the song transitions again. 

Louis nods and they make their way back over to the bar. 

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Louis mutters. He’s not been gone twenty minutes, and yet the Prince has three empty cups in front of him and is currently throwing back the last of four shots into his gob. 

“Is that…?” Liam starts to ask, but Louis doesn’t have time for it. 

He storms on over, and only just notices the tiny blonde girl clinging to the Prince’s arm, probably thinks she’s being discreet as she lowers her hand and tries to slip it inside the Prince’s tight jeans.

The Prince just smiles dopily and tries to get the bartender’s attention again. Lilac-bob stands in front of him and crosses her arms; her expression isn’t kind as she looks at the Prince across the bar. 

Louis gets close enough to hear what he’s saying to her. 

“I’ll have two more gin and tonics and two shots of tequila.”

She tilts her head to the side and doesn’t move to make any drinks. 

“It’s not all for me,” the Prince slurs, bringing a hand to his chest, trying to look charming. “It’s for my new friend, as well.” He gestures to the small girl at his side and she beams, and succeeds in getting the tips of her fingers into the front of the waistband. 

The Prince looks a little caught off guard at that, hand automatically falling to her wrist. It looks like he wants to pull her hand away, but then —like a switch that’s been turned on— instead of removing her hand, he tries to push it lower. 

“Alright, that’s enough,” Louis says when he’s right beside them, pulling the girl’s hand out of the Prince’s pants himself. 

The Prince turns to the left and looks at Louis and immediately his whole face cracks into a giant smile. He turns to the bartender and says, “And anything my Darling here wants. What do you want, Lou? A shot? A drink? Do you want the whole bar? I’ll buy you the whole bar!” 

Louis grimaces, turns to the bartender and says, “Sorry.” And then he grabs at the Prince’s waist to pull him away from the hanger-on, who’s  _ literally  _ trying to hang on to the Prince’s arm for dear life. Once Louis does actually pull him away, the Prince takes that as permission to drape himself over Louis. 

He sighs happily and shoves his nose into Louis hair, and Louis can hear him breathe in through his nose, smelling him. 

“Knew you’d forgive me,” the Prince says, mouthing over the side of Louis’ face. He leaves a trail of wet, sloppy, drunken kisses as he tries to capture Louis’ mouth, hands roaming around to Louis’ back. “Knew it would work. That it’d just take some time.” 

“Half an hour is not enough time to forgive you for anything you’ve done to me, Your Highness,” Louis says ruefully. He's trying to discreetly push the Prince off of him while also dragging his large, useless body towards the main exit, but it’s proving difficult when it seems like the Prince is ready to turn him over and mount him right there at the bar. Louis sighs forlornly, wishing he had an actual viable dick at his disposable right now instead of trying to take care of the dick in his arms. 

Suddenly, the Prince is being pulled off of Louis. He looks surprised, but then he giggles and says, “That tickles!” because Liam is now hauling him over his shoulder and looking pointedly at Louis. 

“Hey!” Gorgeous Bartender shouts over the bar at him. “Back exit is that way.” Louis smiles gratefully and nods at him as they start to move in the direction they’ve been directed in. A few passersby are looking over at them curiously now, and —good— it looks like not a lot of people have recognized the Prince. 

Louis opens a door labeled EXIT and they make their way down a short hallway. Liam trails behind him, carrying the loaf of the Prince’s body and his giggly indignance (which consists of blowing raspberries in the air, half-heartedly mumbling ‘unhand me!’ and, from the way Liam yelps, Louis would guess groping Liam’s arse.)

When they’re outside, Louis spots the Prince’s limousine thirty-or-so meters away. He also sees some paparazzi just off to the side of it, checking their mobiles and fiddling with their cameras. 

“Put him down, Liam, the press’ll have a field day if they see him like this.”

Liam looks uneasy, but he puts the Prince down. 

“Oof,” the Prince says, bringing a hand to his head. “My brain hurts.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I’m sure that’s a common experience for you.”

The Prince smiles widely, eyes a little glazed over. “You’re pretty when you’re mad at me.”

“I must look like goddamn Aphrodite to you all the fucking time, then, don’t I?”

The Prince shakes his head. “No, much prettier than that.”

“Don’t let her hear you say that, or I’ll have snakes for hair by morning.” 

The Prince laughs, a big belly laugh. “You’re so weird.” He tilts forward to lean his body against Louis’ again. “Like you so much.”

“Yeah, alright, he’s fucking plastered,” he says to Liam. And then to the man humming nonsense in his ear, “Let’s go.”

“We’re going?” the Prince says, confused. Then he thinks about it for a moment, eyes flitting over Louis’ face. “Yeah, actually, that’s a good idea.”

Louis shakes his head, bewildered. “This way, Your Highness,” he says, and starts to push him up and gently lead him to the car. But then the Prince digs his heels in and stops the movement. 

“I thought you said you wanted to leave,” Louis reminds him. 

“Yes,” the Prince says. “But call me Harry.”

“What?”

“Call me Harry.”

“I fucking  _ heard  _ you, but what the fuck—”

“Call me Harry or I’ll go over and talk to all the paps right now.” Louis’ eyes flash over to where one of the men with cameras is now looking over at them, probably trying to discern if it is who he thinks it is. “I’ve been drinking,” the Prince singsongs, wrapping his arms around Louis’ shoulders and whispering in his ear. “Can you imagine:  _ Drunken Prince Denounces Climate Change in Front of Club _ ? That’ll look good in the papers.”

Liam looks over at him and shakes his head, like he can’t believe the Prince is being so difficult. Yeah, welcome to his fucking life. 

Fucking hell. 

“Alright,  _ Harry _ , let’s go.” 

The Prince looks smug and giddy, digs his heels in a bit more when Louis tries to move him again. “Always.”

“What?”

“You  _ always _ have to call me Harry now.”

“Your H—  _ Harry _ , that’s not possible.”

“In private, then,” he whispers, right against his ear. Louis flushes a little and swallows. “You can never call me Your Highness when it’s just the two of us again.”

“I will do my best to—”

“Nuh-unh.”

“ _ Fine _ , I won't call you Your Highness in private again.  _ If  _ you can get into the car in the next minute. Happy?”

He nods into the side of Louis’ face and starts walking of his own volition, pulling Louis along with him, tucking him into his chest. Liam, bless him, wraps his left arm around Harry’s shoulders on the other side and laughs like he’s just been told the funniest joke in the world. Just in time for the paps to start taking pictures. 

_ “Prince Harry, Prince Harry!” _ Louis hears called out.  _ “Prince Harry, what are you doing out with your public relations manager? Prince Harry are you two an item? Prince Harry!” _

Louis wants to murder the lot of them. Instead, he pretends not to hear them and laughs along with Liam. The Prince turns to look down at him, smiling so wide his eyes disappear into slits. 

They make it into the car in less than a minute, and Louis can breath again. Well, he can until the Prince flops himself onto Louis’ middle and knocks the air out of him. Then he pulls himself up and hooks his arms around Louis’ neck. He leans his head on Louis shoulder, and when the car starts moving, says to Liam, “Hello! I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Harry.”

“Hi Prince Harry,” Liam says. “I think we pushed passed introductions when you groped my bum earlier.”

The Prince laughs at that. “I apologize. It’s a very nice bum, you should be proud.” Liam blushes and then, like an afterthought, the Prince adds, “It’s not as nice as Louis’ bum though.”

Liam laughs. Louis rolls his eyes. “I could be getting laid right now,” he mutters to the limousine roof. 

Surprisingly, the Prince doesn’t say anything to that. Just presses a kiss to Louis’ neck softly and snuggles into him further. 

They drop Liam off at his flat (where Louis tries to get out and apologize, but the Prince tightens his hold on Louis at any sign of movement) before heading back to the palace. The Prince falls asleep and stays unconscious. Chainsaw-like snores pour out of him until Louis pinches him awake and then pretends he didn’t, smiling down at him innocently as he starts to untangle their bodies. 

They’re loud as they make their way through the palace, even as Louis tries to keep them quiet. There’s lots of laughter from the Prince that he does try to suppress into Louis’ shoulder, but just can’t seem to. They make it outside of his room and Louis tries to pull away, but the Prince keeps a firm hold on him. 

“Tuck me in?” he pleads. 

“I’m not your nanny.”

“I know,” the Prince says softly. “Please.”

Louis sighs. He’s a fucking sucker, he thinks, as he lets himself be dragged into the room. The Prince stays close, like Louis might make a run for it, as he pulls off his clothes and turns down his bed and chugs a glass of water because Louis makes him. 

He’s about to remove his pants when Louis stops him. The Prince’s eyebrows furrow and he says, “I always sleep naked.”

“Good for you, I don’t want to see it.”

The Prince smiles, like he might want to respond, but then hiccoughs the thought away.

Louis gets him under the covers and tucks around the Prince’s upper body. “There,” he says. “Sleep well, Your Highness.”

“Nuh-uhn-uhn!” the Prince tsks, and then giggles. “You promised.” 

“I did not.”

“Well… you said.”

Louis sighs. “That I did, Harold, that I did.”

He giggles again. “M’name’s not Harold.”

“Are you sure? Could have sworn that was your name. You look like a Harold.”

The Prince giggles again, and just looks up at Louis. It looks like he’s having a hard time keeping his eyes open. 

Louis sighs. “You’re actually kind of tolerable like this, you know. If only you didn’t try to fight me on everything.”

The Prince just continues to stare at him. “Will you stay with me?” he asks. 

Louis is already shaking his head. He’s already crossed too many lines of unprofessionalism tonight. “That is beyond inappropriate.”

The Prince doesn’t respond to that, but just  _ keeps  _ staring. 

Louis chuckles uneasily and shakes his head. What a mess this whole thing has been. “Goodnight.”

“G’night, Darling.”

Louis cringes at that, but the Prince doesn’t see, already having closed his eyes, drifting off to sleep. 

He closes the door and makes his way back to his own room. It’s not too far from the Prince’s, but enough of a walk to think about his rubbish night. Of all the nights, why did the Prince have to be there  _ tonight _ ? Louis could’ve been getting his cock sucked right now. Maybe. At the very least he probably could have gotten Goregeous Bartender’s number and scheduled a date, or whatever. 

Louis makes it to his room and looks at the clock on his bedside table. 12:45am. What a waste of a perfectly good quiff. He hasn’t even got a buzz anymore. He strips off his clothes and gets into bed, still vaguely horny, but finding that he doesn’t even want to wank. He just wants to go to sleep. He just wants to put this behind him.


	3. Chapter 3

He wakes up without an alarm, as he does on all of his days off, and stretches happily, all wrapped up and cozy in his blankets. A lot of things suck about staying at the palace, but this bed is not one of them. 

Louis turns to his left and checks the time. 10:24am. He nods to himself and stretches again before pulling himself out of bed. 

From his closet, he grabs his coziest jumper and then throws on his Converse so he can make his way to the kitchen. Normally, Louis doesn’t wear shoes to eat his breakfast, but the palace seems like the sort of place where he should do that. 

He misses being barefoot in his own flat, not worrying if the Duke of Edinburgh is going to stumble across his path on his way to make himself a cuppa. 

He takes one step into the kitchen before realizing he didn’t check first, like he should have, so now he’s trying to turn around quietly so he can leave unnoticed before he hears, “Louis!”

Louis cringes before pulling on a smile and turning back around. “Eleanor!” he says, throwing his arms out. A touch dramatic, maybe, but he doesn’t know how to handle this situation. 

She giggles and continues stirring whatever it is she’s got in the mixing bowl. Her long brown hair is up in a messy bun, some strands coming away from it, and she’s got flour smudged across her cheek. There are other people milling about in the kitchen, washing dishes and prepping various things, but she’s the only one at her station. 

Eleanor nods to the seat beside her and says, “Come sit! Keep me company while I finish this batch of croissants. I’m trying to decide what filling to put in them. I’m leaning chocolate, but cheese might be nicer as a savory option. It’s always hard to tell what people will want, if they even want croissants. So many people aren’t eating carbs these days, as well, so maybe I’m making these for nothing. Here, I’ve got a scone with your name on it. Tea?”

Louis takes a breath, feels like he needs too after that little monologue (not even his own) and says, “Sure.”

She puts down the bowl and turns to the kettle. “Dash of milk, no sugar, right?”

Louis nods as he sits. “Yeah, thanks, love.”

“Of course!” She practically shouts. Then he sees the hint of pink on her cheeks, and realizes he did it again. He mental smacks himself upside the head as he arranges his hands so they’re clasped in front of him. 

He’s always doing that. Calling her pet names. And part of him gets a bit annoyed because he does it with everyone (mostly everyone) so he doesn’t want to change who he is. But the other part of him understands why he needs to. 

Eleanor giggles and pushes a falling strand of her long brown hair behind her ear. “So what do you think, chocolate or cheese?”

Louis shrugs a little. “Either. Suppose chocolate is always a crowd pleaser.”

“Chocolate it is.” she says happily, continuing to mix. “No breakfast with a diplomat this morning, I see. What’s on the agenda today, then? More press conferences?”

Louis smiles politely and focuses on the motion of her hand kneading the dough in the bowl in front of them. “It’s actually my day off. Nothing planned at the moment.”

“Oh,” she blushes again. “Oh that’s really great.”

Louis thinks it’s a bit odd, but he tries not to talk about himself when he’s chatting with her. She tends to hoard bits of information about Louis and pull them out in little flirtations whenever she can —like the tea thing. 

The kettle goes off, and she’s quick to abandon the bowl and pour the boiling water into Louis’ favourite mug in this place (it’s yellow, and has a little lip that curves in at the top so the tea stays hotter for longer). 

(He might steal it when he leaves, actually.)

They’re quiet as the tea steeps for a couple of minutes, and Eleanor grabs the milk from the refrigerator and grabs a scone for him like she said. When the tea’s done, she places the mug and the plate in front of him and he thanks her for it. Without the pet name this time. 

“What’s on your agenda today, then?” he asks her. 

“I’ve got croissants for the rest of the morning, and then it’s onto a Victoria Sponge for dessert tonight. Then I go to my other job for a couple of hours to help out.” Louis nods along and breaks off a bite of his scone; it’s spinach and feta, his favourite. 

Louis doesn’t do meals with the royal family, obviously, but it is interesting to be in the kitchen to see what’s being made. And part of the reason Louis likes to hang out down here is because the cooks have taken a special liking to him, and give him extra little portions or make him delicious snacks. 

Eleanor is really nice. Louis thinks they’d be great mates, actually, if she realized Louis isn’t at all interested in dating her. He wishes he could just tell her, get the awkward flirting (on her part) out of the way so they can just have chats. 

Louis wasn’t sure how the palace staff would react knowing he’s gay (the country is generally on the incline when it comes to equal rights and acceptance, but royals tend to be notoriously old fashioned everywhere) so he didn’t say anything about it. But now it’s been more than three weeks, and he made the mistake of calling Eleanor  _ love  _ and complimenting her raspberry chocolate torte and giving her a cheeky wink saying she looked good covered in flour all in the space of five minutes, so now she’s got a hint of a crush that Louis couldn’t want to get further away from. 

Speaking of which. 

“So, actually,” she says, taking the dough out of the bowl and slapping it down onto the wooden counter beneath her, starting to knead at it again. “I’ve got tonight off. And I know you just said you didn’t have any plans—”  _ oh no _ “—so, no pressure, but I was wondering—”

“Well, what a surprise!” a voice says from across the room. 

Louis’ first thought is  _ thank Christ  _ and his second thought is  _ ah fuck no _ . Because now Prince Harry is making his way across the room, looking straight at Louis. 

“Eleanor, lovely to see you,” the Prince says, eyes focusing on her for a brief moment, smiling (genuinely for once).

“Good morning, Harry.” 

“Are you making those delicious croissants again?”

She nods and smiles at him, before tentatively smiling at Louis. “Chocolate this time.”

“Love that,” Prince Harry says. And Louis is expecting him to make some filthy comment about chocolate and body parts, but he doesn’t, just nods at her and continues smiling. And Louis is always caught off guard when the Prince doesn’t act like his normal self to the staff. It’s peculiar, but Louis chalks this up, at least, to a brotherly-sisterly feeling. 

“Good morning, Louis,” the Prince says, a spark of something in his features. Louis wants to roll his eyes. 

“Good morning, Your Highness.”

The corner of the Prince’s mouth twitches. “I trust you slept well?” he asks. 

“I did. I hope your head wasn’t too bothered this morning.”

Eleanor slows her kneading process to look up between them, confused. “Did you have a headache last night?”

Louis snorts, but tries to hide it by taking a sip of his tea. 

“I did,” the Prince says. “Louis was kind enough to see to me for a bit.”

Louis clenches his jaw and sets his mug down a little more harshly than he intended.  _ See to me _ . Louis knows what he’s implying. 

“Yes, His Highness needed someone to tuck him in, like a little boy.”

When he looks up, the Prince looks shocked. Something else passes over his face quickly, but Louis doesn’t have enough time to figure it out before it’s being replaced with something more devilish. 

“But I was a good little boy, wasn’t I, Louis?”

Louis rolls his eyes now and shakes his head. Eleanor is looking at the dough in her hands hard and seems more confused than ever. 

“Right, well,” Louis says, slapping his hands against his thighs. “Best be off. Only one day off, going to use it wisely.” He drains the rest of his tea, thanks Eleanor for the scone as he deposits his dishes in the dishwasher, and makes his way out of the kitchen. He can almost feel the stare against his back, but he ignores it. 

Using his day off wisely means catching up on all his shows, which Louis does until 2:30pm, when his stomach rumbles. He’s wondering if he has a packet of crisps or something in his room so he doesn’t have to put shoes on again, but he realizes he stress-ate his last bag a few days ago after a particularly grating answer about how the Prince thought the country should approach nuclear energy. 

He slips his Converse back on and makes his way out of his room and down to the kitchen. He peeks his head in slowly this time to make sure Eleanor’s not still there, waiting to force-feed him a chocolate croissant, or anyone else who he’d be wrangled into polite royal chit-chat with for that matter. 

Turns out there’s only the regular kitchen staff, at work preparing for tonight’s dinner. Louis sighs and walks into the room, and is immediately met with a pleased gasp from the sous chef, Cedric. 

“ _ Louis! _ ” he says in his accented French. “ _ Mon soleil _ , you have not visited me in many days.”

Cedric is Louis’ favourite person in the palace, hands down. He’s got these light brown eyes that sparkle whenever he talks about food (or his husband), and a laugh that sounds as light and sweet as his famous chocolate soufflé.

“Sorry, Cedric,” Louis says, and allows himself to be pulled into an all-encompassing hug. This is how all hugs should be, Louis thinks, like you mean it.

“No sorrys,” Cedric says. He pulls out a stool beside his work station and pats the top of it. “Sit, and let me make you something to eat.”

“Ah, don’t worry,” Louis says, patting his stomach. “Just going to make myself a sandwich or something.”

Cedric gasps, like Louis has offended him. “I am the chef, you will sit. Like you could make a  _ sandwich  _ better than I could.”

“Oi, I make a mean ham and cheese, mate.”

“And it is  _ mean  _ because you do not know how to put  _ love  _ into your food like I do.”

Louis lets out a laugh, but he nods and acquiesces. “Alright, alright.” He sits on his stool and watches Cedric flit about the kitchen, grabbing a bowls of things from the refrigerator and some lovely-sounding crusty bread from the pantry as they chat. 

“The work is easier now, yes?” Cedric asks. 

“Ha,” Louis lets out. Cedric looks a little surprised at the sound, but in a way that makes the corners of his mouth turn up and his eyebrows raise. “No, not easier.”

He looks very surprised now. “No?”

“No, why’d you think so?”

Cedric shrugs noncommittally and adds a slice of butter-coated bread to a frying pan. It sizzles pleasantly. “After our talk last week, I spoke with  _ mon nounours _ .” Louis wants to scoff, but he doesn’t out of respect for Cedric. “And he seems sad for the way you don’t like him.”

Louis does roll his eyes now, but then he stops and feels himself tense up. “Wait, did you tell the Prince what I said?”

“No, no  _ mon soleil.  _ I would not break your trust.” He adds cheese and ham to the bread before putting a second slice down and flipping it. Another sizzle. “But you have come up when he and I speak.”

Louis relaxes in his seat, but then shakes his head. “He’s a right piece of work.” 

“We are all work,” Cedric says sagely. He cracks an egg into a separate frying pan. 

“Some more than others,” Louis retorts. 

“A better effort returns a stronger masterpiece.” 

“Sometimes you only think it’s a masterpiece, but really it’s motel art.”

“And sometimes we don’t appreciate a masterpiece until someone shows us how.”

Louis squints his eyes at Cedric, who’s got a playful but knowing smile on his face now. “Alright, I got lost somewhere in there, so you win.”

“Ah! As I always do,” Cedric says. And then he’s plating the sandwich and sliding the egg gently on top. “Now, eat this and tell me how wonderful I am.”

“How wonderful  _ it  _ is,” Louis corrects. 

“No, how wonderful  _ I  _ am,” Cedric says, grabbing the side of opposite Louis’ face and kissing the closest temple. 

Louis holds the sandwich parallel to his mouth so the egg won’t slide off, but when he takes a bite he has a hard time keeping anything level. He groans. “Oh, Cedric, you  _ are  _ wonderful _. _ ”

Cedric looks giddy. “You sound just like my husband there.”

“I’m sure he’s extra spoiled with you to cook for him all the time.”

“To cook for him, to pleasure him, they are both the same sounds.” Cedric’s got a cheeky smile on and Louis nearly chokes. 

“Cedric! What would Pierre think?” Louis laugh-shouts. Cedric and his husband tell each other everything.  _ Everything,  _ Cedric has said more than once.  _ Because then there are no rooms for miscommunication.  _

“He has seen you, I’m sure he would be delighted to know you make the same sounds.”

They’re laughing heartily when there’s a creak in the floorboards and a soft, “Oh.” to the right of them. They both look up. Cedric smiles widely and Louis frowns, turns away, and continues eating his sandwich. 

“ _ Mon nounours!” _ Cedric exclaims. “I did not expect you so soon.”

The Prince clears his throat. “I just came to make sure you… were able to call the bakery.”

Louis’ face pulls together in confusion, but he doesn’t turn to look at the Prince. Any curiosity he has is outweighed by his apathy for anything the Prince does on Louis’ day off. Unless, of course, that thing interferes with Louis’ job on other days. Louis’ trying to weigh his options and the plausible deniability if he doesn’t look (maybe he could just quit if the Prince does something truly horrendous— one can hope), and then he hears some muted muttering, followed by a punctuated “bah!” from Cedric. 

The Prince clears his throat again and is much closer when Louis does turn to his right. He looks uneasy, like he’s approaching a skittish animal. Louis could scoff at that, but he’s got a mouthful of ham and cheese and delicious egg. Scoffing is not more important than that. 

“Louis,” the Prince says. “I wanted to apologize if my behaviour last night upset you in any way.”

“Okay,” Louis says with a mouthful of food. 

“So, I’m sorry for acting as I did.”

“Okay,” Louis says again. 

“And I was hoping you would join me for dinner tonight.”

Louis pauses and looks at his sandwich. What the fuck is this kid playing at. He takes another bite and says, “No thanks.”

The Prince’s eyes widen a bit and he looks to his left, to Cedric, so Louis does as well. Cedric isn’t looking at them, though, he’s got his back turned as he juliennes some carrots along the other workbench. They turn back to face each other.

“Maybe another time then.”

“No thanks,” Louis says again. 

Louis can see the Prince’s jaw clench and he swallows hard. “Okay,” the Prince says, and he moves to turn away, but Louis is honestly just so tired of this. 

So he says, “I’m not going to sleep with you, you can stop trying. Just maybe stop being a dick so I can do my job.” 

The Prince starts raking his eyes up Louis’ body, from his feet to his eyes, and then they flicker back down to his mouth. He steps forward and Louis will be fucking damned if he flinches, so he continues chewing like nothing is wrong. Because it isn’t. 

A thumb swipes up from his jaw to the corner of his mouth, and the Prince hovers there for a moment, making intense eye-contact. 

Louis has the (quite frankly,  _ insane _ ) desire to open his mouth and suck off whatever the Prince is holding out for him, but it’s a fleeting thought. What do they call them? Intrusive thoughts. Like ones where you’re walking on a bridge and have an image of jumping off. Yeah, it’s like one of those. 

After a beat, the Prince brings his thumb to his own mouth, opens wide, tongue first and sucks, fluttering his eyes closed. It’s obscene. And then he moans, low in his throat, like he’s trying to be quiet, but still wants Louis to hear. 

“What the fuck,” Louis whispers. 

“ _Mon_ _nounours,_ ” Cedric says evenly, back still turned. “Is it not time for you to go to your appointment?”

The Prince makes a big show of opening his eyes, locking onto Louis’ again, as the pulls off of his thumb with a wet  _ pop _ . “Thank you, Cedric,” the Prince says, still looking at Louis. It takes another quarter minute for him to turn and walk away. 

Louis shakes his head and finishes the last bite of his sandwich. Cedric puts his knife down, turning to face Louis. 

“ _ Mon soleil _ ,” Cedric starts, voice pitched low like he’s going to try and explain the Prince’s behaviour. Again. 

“Thank you for the lovely meal, Cedric,” Louis says, cutting him off. He smiles and makes his way to the dishwasher to put his plate in neatly. “You are wonderful.” He goes back to his area and makes sure all the crumbs are cleaned up and nothing is out of place. “And sometimes, a masterpiece is actually nothing but rubbish that people don’t realize is rubbish.”

He gives the chef a kiss on the cheek and makes his way out of the kitchen. 

As he makes his way back to his room, he sees Paul, the head of the Prince’s security detail, at the end of the hall. And that reminds him. 

“Paul!” Louis calls out. And Paul stops and turns, waiting for Louis to jog over to him. The man isn’t one to smile all the time, but he gives Louis a small grin now.

“Mr. Tomlinson,” Paul nods at him when they’re a few paces apart. Louis has told him at least half a dozen times to call him by his first name, but he never does. 

“Just the man I wanted to see,” Louis says. 

“What can I do for you?” Paul asks.

“I wanted to talk to you about what happened last night.”

Paul nods and waits for Louis to continue. 

“I know I work here, and I’m in charge of a lot of the Prince’s schedule and I’m with him for a lot of things, but I really don’t think it’s safe for him to not have his team with him when he’s out, even if I’m there.”

Paul furrows his eyebrows. 

Louis continues, “I am not qualified to protect him if something happens. That and being alone with him is not something I’m paid to do, mind you, so I don’t think it’s fair—”

“Mr. Tomlinson,” Paul interrupts. “I’m not sure I understand what happened.”

Louis is a little flabbergasted. He doesn’t even know? “The Prince told his security to leave last night, and when they saw I was there, they did. Now, I get it, I’m very strong and look like I could take down a crowd with a look, but—”

“Mr. Tomlinson, I can assure you his detail did not leave him alone at the club last night. I’m sure you could defend him if need be, but as you said that is not your job. My team would never leave him without at least two members around him, and even then both would need to be within five meters of His Highness.”

It’s Louis’ turn to look confused. “But he said…”

“The Prince says a lot of things, as I’m sure you’re aware, Mr. Tomlinson,” Paul says with a very small, almost fond grin. “It would take more than a few charming words to get my team to leave him.”

“Right,” Louis says, pulling his mouth into a thin line. “Of course. My mistake.”

“It’s easy to believe him when he says that stuff with so much confidence, isn’t it?” Paul chuckles. 

Louis clenches his jaw. “Yeah,” he agrees. “I’ll let you get back to it. Sorry for the confusion.”

“Not at all. Have a nice day, Mr. Tomlinson.”

Louis makes his way back to his room and shakes his head. He can’t believe he believed him when he’d said that Louis was the only one left in the place to watch out for him. 

A sliver of guilt crawls up his spine as he thinks about his reaction. That he’d just turned and left him. Left him alone at the bar with no one to keep an eye on him, to make sure he wouldn’t get himself into trouble. Of course that didn’t bloody matter, now, did it? He still got himself into trouble. Less trouble than he would have if Louis hadn’t come back for him. Why wasn’t anyone looking out for him? 

He wants to shout in frustration, but he holds it in. Even when he makes it to his room, he holds it in, because it’s not worth it. It’s not. And it wouldn’t help, anyway. 

He wills the guilt away, because the Prince was fine, anyway. Fine and able to push through to another day where he could bother the shit out of Louis. So. Lucky him. 

Louis spends the rest of his evening watching a rom-com and remembers the packet of Haribo cola gummies he had shoved in his suitcase, so he polishes those off by the time the credits roll. 

Two movies later and Louis’ starting to feel sleepy. He ruminates on the fact that you can spend a whole day doing nothing and still feel tired, when he hears some loud laughter coming from outside. He ignores it in favour of picking at a loose thread on his joggers until it happens again. And then again, even louder and more maniacal.

Louis huffs, noting the time (9:42pm) and moves to his window to look out at where the noise is coming from. He has to squint to see, since it’s dark outside, and while there are plenty of floodlights, there’s still a lot of empty space across the great expansive lawn. 

When he sees it, Louis just stares for a full minute before he has the energy and the where-withall to whisper, “What the fuck.”

He throws on his shoes again and carefully walks down the stairs, hoping someone else will get to it before Louis so he doesn’t need to deal with it. Or maybe he’ll run into someone whose actual job it is to deal with it, instead. 

He sees no one. 

This palace is full to the brim with twenty thousand people at all times except for when Louis needs it to be. Just his fucking luck. 

He snuggles further into his jumper as he walks across the grass. The laughter is getting louder as he gets closer, and he can hear water now too. Splashing. 

Motherfucker. 

“What are you doing?” Louis calls out, when he’s close enough. 

The splashing stops for a moment as the Prince turns towards Louis’ voice. He squints until Louis steps into the light a second later, and then he beams, smacking his arms down again so there’s a big splash around him. 

“Darling! Come to join me for a swim? Oh whoops! Ha!” He tries to stand up, but slips and falls back down, cracking himself up again. 

The water fountain is off, but you wouldn’t know it from the amount of water the Prince is slapping around. The ornate koi-fish moldings on the second tier of the structure gape down at the man in their water. Louis agrees with them. 

He shakes his head and sighs, looking down at his shoes. He looks back up, finding the Prince still smiling brightly at him. “What are you doing?” Louis asks again. 

“Wanted a swim!” he shouts. “And we haven’t got a pool inside, but I figured this was just as good. Come try with me! It’s so nice.”

“It’s cold out here, Your Highness, maybe we should—”

“Uh-uhn!” he shouts, shaking his finger at Louis. “Nuh-uh, remember! Remember what you—”

“Harry,” Louis interrupts, “it’s cold, let’s get you inside.” 

He sighs, almost dreamily. “Love when you say my name. Sounds so pretty from your lips.” And then he ruins the moment he’s having with himself by slipping and falling into the water again. He laughs and laughs. 

“How much have you had to drink?” Louis asks. 

The Prince blows a raspberry in the air, and his eyes go wide as he thinks. “Like a bottle of vodka.”

Yikes. 

“Yikes,” Louis says. “Okay, let’s get you out and inside. And then you’re going to tell me who let you poison yourself so I can blacklist them from coming near you ever again.”

“Don’t even really like vodka,” the Prince murmurs to himself, and then he hiccoughs, which throws him into another giggling fit. 

Louis steps closer, and bends at the waist to offer his hand to help the Prince out of the fountain while still trying to stay out of the line of fire to keep his clothes dry. “Come on.”

The Prince manages to stand and he takes Louis’ hand. Then looks down, like he doesn’t actually know how to get out. How the fuck did he get in? How the fuck does he manage to do anything in his goddamn life. 

Louis pats the cement edge of the fountain with his other hand. “Sit here and swing your legs over.”

The Prince nods dutifully and does as he’s told. Once his legs are both on the other side, he seems to misjudge the distance and practically catapults himself onto Louis. Louis manages to catch him just fine, but all of his clothes are now damp from where the Prince’s soaked jeans and shirt are sticking to him. 

“Ahf,” Louis huffs. “You’ve gotten me all wet now.”

“Mmm,” the Prince hums, leaning practically all of his weight onto Louis as he straightens himself up. “Would love to see how wet you get for me now.”

Louis nearly chokes at that, but turns it into a scoff. After a small pause, he says, “This is the wettest you’re ever going to see me.”

The Prince pouts. Actually pouts. 

“Alright, come on, off we go,” Louis says. He pulls the Prince along by the arm around his waist. He clings to his neck with both arms and follows along. “Who’d you go out with?”

“M’friend,” he answers simply. 

“Which friend?”

“Nick.”

“Nick who?”

“No, Nick Grimshaw,” he answers seriously. Louis lets out a little laugh because he can’t help it. Sometimes the Prince is actually funny, if only when he’s not trying. “He’s on a diet right now, so he couldn’t eat anything, but he said vodka has only like seventy calories per shot so he could drink that instead.” The Prince giggles. “And then he said it was a waste to not kill the bottle, but he didn’t have any more calories left, so it was my job.”

Prince Harry stumbles a bit and laughs at the way he almost drags Louis down onto the grass with him as he uses Louis’ shoulder to right himself. Louis silently thanks his personal trainer for being so obsessed with core and balancing exercises the last few months. 

“You know you don’t have to finish a bottle of spirits, right?” Louis asks. “That saying is for wine.” He can see the entrance about thirty meters away. Thank God. Once they’re inside, he can find someone else to take this man out of his hands. Literally. 

Prince Harry shrugs. “Nick likes it when I drink too much.”

Louis furrows his brows at that and unconsciously slows his pace a bit. “He what?”

He shrugs again. “He likes when I drink. He tells me I’m weird and he laughs with me, which is nice. He’s so serious. Like him better when we’re drinking, anyway.” 

Louis is about to say something else but then he leans closer and sniffs the Prince’s wet hair. “Did you smoke?”

He nods. “Did you know pot is zero calories? We had that too.”

Louis huffs out a breath. “Maybe you should get some mates who you like just fine sober.”

Harry laughs, like Louis’ just told him the funniest joke in the world. He feels knots in his stomach. 

“Alright, nearly there,” Louis says, just as Harry trips over his own feet so intensely that he falls forward. The problem is, he’s gripping onto Louis so tightly, and Louis is distracted by the uncomfortable feeling in his stomach that he doesn’t see it coming, and gets pulled along with him. They roll a couple of times before Louis can grapple for purchase against the ground. 

When he orients himself, he finds Harry underneath him, lying flat on his back with one hand on Louis’ hip and the other arm securely around his neck. Louis can feel the warmth of Harry’s palm seep through the thin material of his jumper. 

Suddenly, he realizes he’s  _ on top of  _ the Prince of England, knees on either side of Prince Harry’s hips, hands planted on either side of his head. And he’s uneasy. More than one kind of uneasy, he realizes, as the Prince rubs a thumb over Louis’ hip bone. 

“Right,” Louis says, “do you even know how to stay upright?”

He giggles. “I do all my best work horizontal. You should know that!”

Louis rolls his eyes and shifts to sit up, but then the Prince loops his other arm around Louis’ waist and pulls him down on top of himself. 

“Oof,” Louis says, having the breath pressed out of his abdomen. The Prince makes no other moves, just holds him there, hugging Louis to his chest. He hums, satisfied and Louis shutters as he feels the wind hit against his clothes. 

“Come on, Your Highness, it’s fucking freezing.” 

“Harry,” he murmurs into Louis’ hair.

“Now is not the time, I’m  _ cold. _ ” He pushes himself up, and brings the Prince’s upper body with him, he’s clinging on so tightly. 

“My name, Louis, please,” he says, almost on a whine. 

“It doesn’t really matter,” Louis says, getting a better foundation with his knees firmly on the ground again, pulling back to pull them up. The Prince lets himself be pulled. 

“It does matter,” the Prince says. 

“Fine,” Louis says, shivering. The wind whips at them again, and Louis feels the Prince shutter against him as well. “Let’s get inside,  _ Harry _ .”

The Prince hums again in the same way, content and willing to let Louis pull him to his feet. He stumbles a bit, but Louis’ more aware now and can keep them both steady. 

“You do realize this is now the second night in a row you’ve made me put you to bed  _ wasted,  _ right?”

“M’not wasted,” the Prince says simply. 

“Yeah, okay.” 

They finally make it inside and Louis slams the door, hoping loads of people hear and they can come rushing to help. Help getting the Prince away from Louis. 

“Shh,” Prince Harry says, ending on a giggle. “It’s night time,” he whispers. 

“Yes, it is, but not nearly late enough for everyone to be asleep yet.” 

They make it to the next room, all the way to the foot of the stairs and Louis has seen  _ no one _ . Where the fuck is everyone?

“Where’s your team?” Louis asks. 

“For football? Manchester. What’s yours?”

Louis laughs a little before he can help it; it echoes around them. He tries to school his face quickly, but even as drunk as he is, the Prince still catches it, and smiles at him softly. 

“Not  _ what’s  _ your team, although you’ve got good taste there.  _ Where  _ is your  _ security  _ team?”

“Oh,” Prince Harry says in understanding. He nods. “I snuck away.”

“Excuse me?”

“I snuck away,” Harry says, a bit louder. Like Louis was asking because he couldn’t hear him, not because Louis is in utter dismay at his answer. 

Louis looks around once more in hopes to find someone who will save them. No one. He sighs and pulls along at Harry’s waist to get him to climb the stairs. 

“You can’t sneak away from your team, Harry. Who was with you, I need to ring them and make sure they know.”

“No, no,” Harry says. “No need. They thought I was in bed, so they’re probably in bed too. But I snuck out after.” 

“How did you sneak out?”

Harry laughs and tries to boop Louis on the nose as they take a step up onto the second floor landing, but he misses and nearly ends up poking Louis in the eye. 

“Oops,” he says, and then smoothes a couple of fingers down Louis’ face, maybe in order to sooth him. Christ. “I can’t tell you, because then they’ll know how.”

“You do realize who you are, don’t you?” Louis asks, beginning to pull them up the next set of steps. 

“M’Harry,” he murmurs and then he kisses messily at Louis’ jaw. “And you’re Louis.” 

“Unfortunately,” Louis says as they make it up another couple of steps. The man in his arms is fit enough to bound up these stairs in fifteen seconds, and yet they’ve already spent a fully two minutes and they’re not at their floor yet. Typical. 

Harry laughs. “You’re so funny. You should do comedy... I’d go to all your gigs.”

“Very kind of you,” Louis says, pulling more of Harry’s weight, since he’s gone near useless in his arms. 

“I’d clap really loud,” he continues. 

“It’s only polite for you to clap since you’d be the only one there.”

“Ha!” Harry bursts out. And it makes Louis feel light in his abdomen. Butterflies, which he promptly squashes down. They don’t belong there. “So funny.” Harry sighs as they finally hit the third floor. “So pretty.” 

Louis shakes his head. “You have to stop that.” 

“M’sorry,” he says, nuzzles in towards his neck again. There’s warmth against his throat as Harry breathes on him. It’s wet, and Louis can hear as Harry licks his lips. It causes a zip of something to shoot up his spine. “You are though. So pretty and fun and smart. Want you so much.”

Oh god. 

Louis feels heat burst throughout his body as his skin flushes. Harry is still trying to burrow his head into Louis’ neck and making these little huffed noises, and Louis can’t help but imagine Harry’s mouth on him again. So sure and so skilled. Licking up to the shell of his ear and then trailing kisses down Louis’ jaw until he reached his mouth, where he could fuck his tongue in and just make Louis take it, like he’s hinted at so many times before. More than hinted. 

He’s taken out of his little daydream when he realizes they’ve reached Harry’s door, and he’s being pulled into the room before Harry kicks the door closed behind them. 

“That door is probably hundreds of years old, Harold, and you just kicked it with your muddy shoe.” 

“The door was replaced twelve years ago,” Harry says matter-of-factly. Then he pulls Louis forward with just as much strength as Louis used to pull him up the stairs. Where was this energy thirty seconds ago?

“Well, someone else is still going to have to clean it, and you’ve made their work harder.” 

“I’ll clean it tomorrow, if it’ll make you happy,” Harry says, finally stopping in the center of the room, turning his body so the two of them are face-to-face. 

Louis swallows as discreetly as he can. “What would make me happy is to not have to even think about someone cleaning mud off of a door because someone was in a huff and kicked it shut.”

“I’m doing the next best thing,” Harry says, smiling softly down at him, one arm still hooked around his neck and shoulders, the other arm is bent at his side and stretched out like it wants to touch Louis too. 

Louis grabs onto both of Harry’s wrists and pulls so that his hands are in front of him, right where he can see them. Harry’s eyes flutter closed and his fingers twitch a little. Louis doesn’t think about it. 

“The next best thing is getting you to sleep,” Louis says, “or telling me how you snuck out of the palace filled with no less than thirty guards around at any one time.” 

Harry giggles and leans forward. “I’m sure you could get it out of me somehow,” he slurs flirtatiously. Louis rolls his eyes and drops his wrists. 

“Alright, you’re safe in your room, now, love. I’m going to go.” 

Louis blushes when he hears the nickname out of his own mouth and tries to turn away quickly.

Harry grabs Louis’ wrists this time. “No, please, just stay with me. For a minute.”

“Why?”

Harry just shrugs and stares at him, pleading. He looks so fragile like this. He does  _ not _ think about it. 

“Sixty seconds.”

Harry pouts. 

“That’s not a good use of your remaining fifty-four seconds.”

Harry sighs and just stares at him, eyes flitting all around his face. This is getting a bit much. All this emotion when Harry’s drunk. All this sincerity that has Louis more than confused. Where is the Prince who insists on mucking up all his interviews with innuendos? Where is the man who’s said more dirty things to Louis than he’s ever heard anywhere in his life? Where does the Prince go when he’s like this, and why does it feel so monumental to have Harry staring at him like he is. 

Louis shakes himself out of it. “Time’s up, Harold,” Louis says softly, looking down at where Harry is still clutching at his wrists. 

“Just a little bit—” 

But Louis shakes his head and carefully removes himself from Harry’s hold. “Goodnight, Prince Harry,” he says, backing up a few steps. “Remember, we’ve got to leave the palace at noon tomorrow to make it to BBC studios for your interview. Wear whatever you’d like, but make sure your shirt is buttoned at least most of the way, you’ll be on telly. One that people actually watch.” 

Harry doesn’t say anything, so when Louis reaches the door, he turns to make sure he hasn’t collapsed onto the floor. 

He hasn’t. 

He’s in the same spot, still just looking at Louis with an unreadable expression on his face. 

“G’night,” he says softly. 

Louis nods and leaves the room, softly shutting the door behind him. He leans back against it for a moment and just breathes. 

Prince Harry Styles of England. He’s the Prince of England. As much as he clearly wants to be, he’s not just  _ Harry.  _ He’s not just another lad; he’s bloody  _ royalty _ . Louis wishes he could know what he wants by asking to be called by his first name, but he’s not about to ask and clarify. God knows what that would lead to. 

No, Louis thinks, making his way to his room. No use in trying to unpack that. He’s got less than two weeks left here, and solving the Prince Harry Styles riddle is not at the top of his list. It’s not even on his to-do at all, if he’s honest. Not something he ever plans on digging into. He’s the Prince, isn’t he? He’ll have plenty of people coming in and out of his life to help him find himself. Who’s Louis to even have a passing thought that he could make a difference?

Louis passes by half a dozen people roaming the hallway before he gets to his bedroom door. Two of them go down the staircase Louis dragged the Prince up not ten minutes ago. Fucking hell. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Spill with Holly Willoughby is not a real show.

“Joining us in a minute is someone who has Britain’s opinion split straight down the middle: a flighty womanizer or a boy misunderstood,” Holly Willoughby says to the camera, a twinkle in her eye. “He’ll be on to talk about his transition into his new role, his recent trip to Morocco, and maybe, if we’re lucky, what he looks for in a potential partner; we’ve heard there are  _ several  _ openings for one of those positions.” She holds her pause and smiles at the camera knowingly. “We’ll dive in after the break.”

“And we’re off,” one of the producers says.

Holly continues to smile as she stands from the cozy-looking powder-blue sofa that’s set up in the studio. It’s made to look like a sitting room, with a coffee table, a couple of lamps, and various plants in pots and flowers in vases around the room. There’s even a painting of a sailboat at a harbour behind the scene on the wall. Sort of reminds Louis of his granddad’s house, but slightly more modern. 

Regardless, it’s a fine set. It’s non-threatening, unlike Holly Willoughby, who’s walking towards the Prince right now. She could pose a serious threat to Louis, the Prince, and maybe the entire world, if she got enough power. 

Louis is cautious about it all, but this interview is a good opportunity. The public like Holly and they trust her opinion (for whatever reason) and having a good chat with her is likely to change a few minds about Prince Harry Styles. Unfortunately, the trouble will be getting it to be a good chat, because from the intro, it looks like all Holly wants to talk about is the Prince’s personal life. 

Holly stops in front of the Prince and leans in to kiss both of his cheeks. Louis is a couple of meters away, but he doesn’t move to jump into the conversation just yet. He will, if he needs to, but he wants to see what kind of mood the Prince is in. 

He was rather quiet this morning. They rode together in one car, but neither spoke. Louis’d handed him a small packet of information to review before the interview, and then watched him stare out the window of the car as they drove. Louis shook his head but decided not to say anything, writing up his own notes on what he needed to organize for the week ahead. 

The Prince has a briefing with the rest of Princess Gemma’s future advisors and several official meet-and-greets with members of parliament tomorrow. The day after, there’s a radio interview (with His Highness’ arsehole vodka-drinking demon friend). Then it’s organizing themselves for more press conferences and maybe some sort of charity drop-by. He doesn’t know if he could get the Prince to go full on reading-to-babies-in-hospital thing, but maybe they can get a photo of him smiling at an old woman or something. Even if it’s just because he’s flirting (because the Prince flirts with everyone and everything he can), Louis can make that work. 

“Holly,” the Prince says, “lovely to see you.”

“And you, Your Highness,” she says. 

And, oh, there’s something much too friendly in her tone. Not quite like the diplomat, but not unlike her either. 

“Trust you’ve been well,” the Prince says. “I haven’t heard any crazy stories about you recently.” 

“Well, I’m not currently chatting to anyone who could encourage me into crazy stories, now, am I?” She leans forward with her hands clasped behind her back, and her short dirty blond waves sway forward with her. 

Ah, fuck. 

“You aren’t?” the Prince asks. “Could’ve sworn I heard some gossip that you’ve been hunkering down with some American film star.”

“Oh, Chris?” she says, like she can’t even believe he’s been brought up. “That was over weeks ago.” 

Which Chris, Louis wonders. Pine? Hemsworth? Evans? Why are there so many goddamn actors named Chris. 

“Lucky for me,” the Prince says. 

“I don’t see how,” Holly replies, flirtation dripping from her voice. 

Yikes. 

Louis is turning to look, to see what their body language is like, to see how much damage this could cause, but then a production assistant catches his attention and asks how the Prince takes his coffee.

Black, one packet of raw sugar, Louis thinks. But he says, “How the hell would I know?” because he’s annoyed that someone would assume Louis’ paid attention to something like that. And then, “Erm, sorry, love, I mean I’m not sure,” because the PA looks too taken aback by his biting tone. 

“How about you?” the PA asks. 

“How about me, what?” Louis asks. 

“How do you take your coffee?”

“Oh,” he says, nodding in understanding. “More of a tea man, myself. Coffee is for emergencies only. ”

“How do you like your tea?”

“Black tea, Yorkshire if possible, splash of milk.”

“I’ll be sure to have it ready for you in the morning.”

Louis furrows his brows and really looks at the boy in front of him. He looks like he’s just gone twenty, with short blond hair and bright blue eyes that are gleaming at Louis. _ Oh _ . 

“Are you hitting on me?” Louis asks, mostly just curious. 

The man shrugs. “Could you blame me if I was?”

Louis laughs at that. “No, I couldn’t. I’m quite the catch.”

“Looking forward to catching you,” the blond says, eyes bright. 

Louis takes stock of him again, all defined muscles under his black t-shirt and black jeans. He’s wearing a headset, but the microphone is pushed up so it’s not pointed at his mouth, and he’s carrying a clipboard. He’s got a touch of stubble at his chin. Louis’ always had a thing for facial hair. So he smiles back. “Don’t know if you could handle catching me. You look like you should still be studying for your A-levels.”

The blond rolls his eyes a bit, but he’s still smiling. Good. He likes a man who can handle a bit of teasing. “Well past my A-levels at twenty-four, I should say.”

Louis shrugs and crosses his arms in front of his chest. “You’re four years younger than me, you might as well be an infant.” 

“Well, I’m sure I could be your baby.” 

Louis smirks, and before he can respond, he feels an arm being draped over his shoulders. 

“Darling, I think we need to prep for my interview.”

Louis smiles tightly, still looking at Blond Man, who smiles sympathetically before looking over at the Prince. 

“I was just coming over to ask if you would like some coffee, Your Highness,” Blond Man says. 

“That would be great. Black with one sugar. Raw sugar, if possible,” the Prince says. “And whatever my Darling here wants, as well.”

“I’m all set,” Louis says, to which one of them, he’s not sure. 

Blond Man nods at both of them and smirks at Louis before walking away. 

Louis shrugs the Prince’s arm off of his shoulder and moves to face him so he can’t easily do it again. “Stop that.”

“Stop what?” the Prince asks, going for innocent. Stupid green eyes all wide and hair all curly like he has any business looking angelic when he’s a literal demon. 

“Stop calling me that.”

“Stop calling you what?”

Louis takes a deep breath in, and is about to really lay into him, tell him to stop with the  _ darling  _ nonsense, but then the Prince is called over to take his place. The show is about to begin again. 

His job. Louis can do his job. He walks over with the Prince and makes sure he sits on the opposite end of the sofa so he and Holly won’t be pressed right up against one another. Of course, he can only maneuver the Prince, Holly is free to make her own decisions, but the dynamic of her show is so well crafted he can’t imagine she’d put her image in jeopardy for a little body heat, no matter how hot he is. 

The Prince is dressed in a red floral suit, and he’s unbuttoned his plain black shirt nearly all the way to his belly button. Louis can see the entirety of the butterfly on his abdomen. Christ.

Louis leans over and starts buttoning them up as he talks. “Holly is set to ask you about Morocco, try to bring up international relations and where Princess Gemma is at on that policy. It was in your notes this morning, you read them right?”

“Mhm,” the Prince hums. 

Louis finishes the last button, leaving the two at the top undone; having him all the way buttoned up would be too out of character. “Told you to button that properly,” he says, straightening up. But then the Prince grabs ahold of his grey suit-covered forearm with both of his hands and smiles up at him. 

“But then you wouldn’t have gotten the chance to dress me.” 

“I didn’t  _ dress you, _ ” Louis says in dismay. 

“Although,” the Prince continues, ignoring him. Like he always does. Why does Louis bother speaking at all? “I think I’d much rather you  _ un _ dress me if I’m honest.” 

“There is no dressing or undressing happening. You are clothed and you will remain this level of clothed for the entire time you are on camera. I need you to promise me you won’t strip on this show.” 

“What do I get in return?”

“Not being naked on public television.”

“Dunno. Sounds like a good time to me.” 

_ “Promise.” _

“Yeah, yeah, alright, I promise,” he says. And then he flashes all his teeth. “If…”

But then thankfully the producers are calling places and Holly is moving to sit on the opposite end of the sofa and someone is tugging at Louis’ elbow in order to get him off set and back behind the cameras. The Prince lets go of his forearm only when Louis physically pulls it away. 

They count down to being live on air and then Holly is smiling again, like the cat who ate the canary. 

“Welcome back to Spill. I’m Holly Willoughby and joining me this afternoon is Prince Harry Styles! Thank you for coming today, Your Highness.”

Louis is going to murder him if he makes a joke about what kind of coming she means. 

“Thank you for having me, Holly,” he says instead. Surprising.

Good. If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll keep it light and polite. 

“You’ve been quite busy the last few months, getting ready to take over some of your sister’s responsibilities as she gets ready to step into her role as Queen,” she says, tapping the cards in her hands against her knee. “How’s that been going?”

The Prince leans back against the sofa and crosses his legs towards Holly. “It’s been a struggle, but I’m making it through.”

“Oh!” Holly says, voice going up an octave, but it seems almost like she was expecting this answer. “What about it has been the biggest struggle?”

“Well, obviously my sister has been working tirelessly for years on these issues, and I’ve only just jumped into the thick of it.”

Louis furrows his brows. He was told by the main PR team that Prince Harry was intimately involved in the political discussions for years, all the way back before Queen Anne had decided she’d been stepping down. And he knows the Prince studied Politics and International Relations at Oxford. Odd sort of take on it.

“Ah,” Holly says, “harder than you thought?”

“ _ Just _ as hard as I thought,” Prince Harry says with a smirk. 

Holly returns the smirk. “So what’s keeping you afloat in all the learning?”

“Not really a what, but a who.”

If this was recording with a live audience, this would be the part where they would  _ ooo _ \- Louis can feel it. And he’s gone red at the ears because  _ what the fuck  _ is he trying to do? And why didn’t he tell Louis before if he was going to announce some sort of girlfriend or boyfriend or whatever it is he’s doing?

Holly turns to the camera with a jaw-dropped smile on her face and then turns back to him to say, “Are you seeing someone, Prince Harry?” 

“I’m not  _ not  _ seeing someone,” the Prince says with a pointed inflection in his voice. “But I meant my Public Relations manager, Louis Tomlinson.”

Louis has gone warm all over. He can feel the prickle of heated anger in his palms. What is he playing at? The Prince has never acknowledged him when they’re together for a press conference that’ll be aired on BBC at odd hours of the day, but now that he’s not there —not  _ prepared— _ he decides to say his full name and title. 

Louis’ heart beats fast as thoughts of what the Prince could say, all the things he could spit out without a second breath that would get him fired or ruin his reputation or just straight up humiliate him. 

“He’s with you today, isn’t he?”

“Oh, he’s always with me,” the Prince says. “He comes thoroughly prepared, and always gets me properly prepped beforehand.”

He doesn’t say it in his normal tone, dripping with sex, but the insinuation is there. Louis will murder him. 

“Did he prep you today?” Holly asks, feeding into it. 

“Of course,” the Prince says. “Just before I sat down here, actually. He’s very good. And, I know I don’t have so much experience with PR, but I’d even say one of the best in the  _ biz _ .”

“Maybe I’d be better off asking him some of these questions then, eh?”

The Prince shrugs and grins, looking just over the top of the camera to meet Louis’ eye. “Probably would be.”

“Let’s get him up here then, shall we!” Holly says, loud and encouraging. She starts clapping, and so does the Prince. 

Louis doesn’t move. He won’t move. He won’t do this. Who knows what other things the Prince could say. And while he’s more confident in his ability to hold off his blush now than he was three weeks ago, standing in front of a camera crew on a day-time talk show sounds like a nightmare. This is  _ live  _ TV. 

“Come on over here, Louis!” Holly shouts again. And Louis just shakes his head. They can move on. 

“Ah, I think he’s a bit shy,” Holly says. “I don’t bite!” And then she looks up and off to the left, like she’s thinking. “Well, not unless you ask me to.”

Louis rolls his eyes because what a cliche thing to say. At least the Prince has some clever dirty jokes. 

And then there’s a camera pointed at his face, and Louis freezes. 

“Come on over, Louis,” Holly says, clapping again. 

Louis looks over to the Prince, and he’s smiling, but his eyes look a little uneasy now. Louis shakes his head, takes a deep breath, and starts walking towards the sofa. The camera follows him as he moves until he’s seated in between Holly and the Prince.

“There now,” Holly says. “Thanks for joining, Lou!”

Louis looks over at her, but doesn’t let himself scowl like he wants to. He smiles instead. “You’re welcome.” 

The Prince shifts slightly towards and then away from Louis, like he can’t decide what he wants. 

“Now,” Holly says, tapping her cards on her knee again. “You’ve been Prince Harry’s PR Manager for how long now?”

“Three weeks,” Louis says. 

“And how’s it gone so far?”

Louis clenches and unclenches his jaw. He hopes it’s not noticeable on camera. 

The thing is… Louis doesn’t like lying. He’s always been much more comfortable with stretching the truth a little to make sure the appropriate message gets across. But this…it’s a fine line anyway, but now on a live talk show… 

Lying it’s going to have to be. 

Louis pushes a large smile and says, “It’s been great.” Lie. 

“Really?” Holly asks, like she doesn’t believe him. She shouldn’t, but Louis finds her tone rude, so he laughs a little. 

“Yes, really. His Highness has been thoroughly charming and really just needs some fine-tuning when it comes to talking politics.” Mostly lie. 

“What kind of fine-tuning?” Holly asks. 

“Well, it really comes down to being confident in his knowledge. He knows a lot about politics, let me tell you,” Louis leans in conspiratorially. “My notes are often about appropriate formalities, and where the conversations should be focused based on who is interviewing and what we’re trying to focus on.” Half truth. 

“I see. And Prince Harry, have you felt that’s what Louis’ notes have been geared towards? Have you been holding out on us with all your political knowledge? I know we’re not a high-brow show, but we could have a good debate, you and I,” she jokes. 

“Oh, no,” the Prince says, smile plastered on, but Louis can see some tension in his body, as if he's holding himself back. “Louis is being much too modest, he’s the entire source of all the knowledge I’ve gained about the policies changes we’re discussing.”

Louis is shaking his head, lets out another little laugh. “Now, that’s just simply not true. His Highness has strong opinions, ones that the country would be surprised and enraptured by if they heard them.”

...actually, fully true. 

It feels like the Prince is gearing up to object again, but Holly steps in. 

“Well, we’ll have to be a little bit more convincing next time to make you give us some of those opinions! Thank you so much for coming on, Louis, I know you weren’t thrilled.” She stretches out her hand for a shake. 

“It’s been a pleasure,” Louis says. Biggest lie.

He takes her hand. She squeezes hard, like she wants it to hurt. Louis doesn’t let his face betray him as he stands and walks off camera again. Once he’s out of view he takes a deep breath to try and steady himself. 

The interview goes on, and Holly asks about Morocco. The Prince does not bring up one word about the policies Louis told him to, and instead spends two full minutes talking about the partying he did there. 

Holly signs off a few minutes later, once she’s done trying to weedle out what the Prince’s type is (“Someone fun, a good smile, someone who’s nice,” he’d said. “Always appreciate some big  _ extras _ , as well.”)

They each say their polite goodbyes to the crew and Blond Man slips Louis his number. Prince Harry spends an extra minute huddled off to the side with Holly, so Louis rolls his eyes and makes his way to the car. The Prince’s security team will make sure he gets there safely. 

Louis is checking emails on his mobile when the car door opens. The Prince gets in and then turns around to slam it shut behind him instead of letting the driver shut it nicely. 

Well then. 

“What’s got you in a mood?” Louis asks. 

“I’m not in a mood,” he says, not looking at Louis. But then he picks the seat diagonally across from Louis so he’s facing the opposite direction in which they’re traveling. He stares out the window with a deep frown etched into his face. 

“Okay,” Louis says, and he returns to his mobile. 

The silence is surprisingly torturous. 

“I’m _so_ sorry I made you seem like an intelligent thoughtful man for once, instead of someone who’s only obsessed with getting his dick wet.”

“Fuck off,” the Prince mutters. 

“Ha,” Louis laughs in once push of breath. “Can’t believe you’re actually cross with me for making you look good for  _ one _ minute. _ I _ should be cross with  _ you  _ for pulling me on camera.”

“You’re on camera with me more often than not,” the Prince says, still looking out the window.

“Yeah, during  _ press conferences in the palace _ , where I know I’m going to need to stand next to you for an hour and rescue you from the next detrimental word coming out of your mouth.”

“Maybe I don’t want you to  _ rescue me. _ ”

“That’s my job. Literally, my job is everything you say to the press, no matter which kind of press it is, whether it’s a room full of reporters for new channels all of six people watch, or a shitty talk-show host who thinks she’s going to be Jon Stewart if she asks enough  _ leading  _ political questions. My job is  _ not  _ to be accosted and thrown in front of a camera when I’m not expecting it.”

“So you don’t like surprises.”

“I work in public relations, surprises are my nightmare.”

The Prince just shakes his head and crosses his arms. 

“What do you even have to be fuming about, hm? Not looking like an incompetant dickwad? So sorry it ruins your image, Prince Harry Edward Styles, of being so sex-crazed there isn’t room in your brain for anything meaningful.”

The Prince finally looks at him. He’s fuming so badly, Louis can practically taste the smoke coming out of his ears. “You. Don’t. Know. Me,” he spits out. 

“And I don’t want to,” Louis answers, making unwavering eye-contact. The Prince looks away again and stares harshly out the window. Louis leans back and crosses his arms as well, looks out his own window as he says, “Eleven days. And they can’t come quick enough.” 

The rest of the car ride is silent. 

When they park in front of the palace, Louis moves first, and quick, as he wrenches the door open before anyone else has a chance to, and then storms off inside. 

They’re done with obligations for the day, so Louis goes back to his room and doesn’t slam the door, but only because he has a great respect for the architecture and historical things. 

He calms down after eating some Swedish Fish his sister sent over from New York and binge-watching three episodes of Love Island on his laptop. 

Honestly, why was he so upset in the first place? He’d gotten over the ‘being on telly unexpectedly’ thing, so it really shouldn’t have taken so long. Louis breathes. Feels like he can actually breathe again. And he switches off Love Island to get some work done. 

After about a half an hour, his mobile rings. 

“Hey Ni,” Louis answers, holding the device between his shoulder and his ear as he types up a few easy-read notes for the Prince’s meetings with advisors and parliament members. 

“Hey, Lou,” Niall says, voice slightly tinny through the phone. “Haven’t heard from you in a bit, how’s everything?”

“Oh fuck,” Louis says, looking up from his work. He grabs his mobile to hold it to his face properly. “Sorry my write-up is late this week.”

“Ah, no worries mate.”

Louis shakes his head, and lets out an exasperated sigh. “I meant to do it last night, but I got  _ distracted _ . You won’t believe it actually. I had to stay up late rescuing the charming prince from the water fountain. And then today, I was forced to actually be on  _ Spill with Holly Willoughby _ and… it’s a long story, I’ll tell you about it when I see you next Saturday.”

“Actually,” Niall says, drawing out the word. “That’s what I was calling you about.” 

Louis laughs loud and long. “Already looking forward to end-of-job drinks, are we? Tell me about it lad, it’s been right torture some days. I was thinking we could go to that bar by our old place, the one with 3 quid Fireball shots. I’m not even going home first, I’ll go straight to the bar, if you can meet me—”

Niall clears his throat to interrupt him. “Actually, Louis, I was hoping you were maybe open to extending the job.” 

Louis lets out another loud chuckle, but stops when he realizes Niall isn’t laughing with him. Then he lets out a huffed out disbelieving laugh before he says, “No, absolutely not.”

“But what if I said I could pay you four times your normal rate?”

“I’d say one, you can’t afford that, and two, you’re absolutely off your fucking rocker.” 

“Actually—”

“Horan, fuck off with your actuallys.”

“Fuck, look, I got a call this morning offering me a shitton of money to keep you on. Four times our rate, Louis, which means four times your rate. And since you haven’t got anything set up after… w ould you seriously turn that down?”

“Yeah, I would, do you know what I’ve— wait, who called you?”

“Someone named Mitch Rowland.” He can practically hear the shrug over the line. Louis vaguely recognizes that name, thinks the Prince has mentioned him before, but Louis can’t remember the context. “He wasn’t who I originally booked the job with, but said he was representing the palace and could wire the money immediately.” Then he pauses. “Why, do you think it’s a prank? Or a scam?”

“Oh, it’s a scam alright,” Louis says with a dry laugh. “Young Prince Harold thinks he can pay me to stay and be tortured by him.”

There’s a pause. “I didn’t think Harry was short for Harold?” Niall asks. 

“Niall, let’s focus, shall we? I’m not staying on. Hire someone else and pay them twice their normal rate and keep the rest for yourself, they’ll be chuffed and you’ll be making the firm a fuckton of money, which will be cause for celebration, a raise, and probably a load of birds swarming around you at all times. Now, doesn’t that sound nice?”

“It sounds great, Louis, but unfortunately the offer was specifically for you.” 

Louis shakes his head. “Of course it was.”

There’s a long forlorn sigh. “Well, I guess it was nice in theory. Good thing I didn’t tell anyone else at the firm about it.”

“Yeah, good thing.”

“What are the odds you’ll change your mind?”

“Zero to none.”

“That’s what I thought.” Another sigh. 

And then Louis feels bad. Not bad enough to change his mind, you know, but still bad. “Listen, Nialler, all your drinks on me next Saturday, yeah?”

“Ah, yeah, of course mate. Honest, it was worth a shot, but you did say no more favours. Not 10p for a piece of gum, not the number of a cute lass, not anything, isn’t that right?” They laugh together. “Cheers, I’ll see you soon.”

“Cheers, Ni. Thanks for understanding.”

“‘Course,” is what he says. Because even when he’s disappointed, Niall is the loveliest man on the planet. 

They hang up and Louis shakes his head. After their row today, Louis can’t see why the Prince would want to keep him on longer. Or maybe it was made before and Niall was just getting around to telling him. 

It doesn’t matter, Louis decides. He’s not doing it, and he won’t be strong-armed into changing his mind with something like money. There’s not enough money in the world for Louis to want to keep himself in this situation. Well, that’s not entirely true, he’d probably do another week for a million pounds. The Prince doesn’t really want him around, anyway. He might think it’s fun to make Louis feel uncomfortable, but he must know it’s not worth it. 


	5. Chapter 5

The next day is the calmest one Louis’ had since he came to the palace. It’s mostly due to not seeing the Prince at all. 

Louis types up his weekly report for Fireproof, and gets his notes ready for the coming week. He loves having time to prepare several days in advance, makes his job much easier, especially when it seems the Prince has no qualms suddenly making himself an immediate problem. Doesn’t leave much room for prioritizing his work. 

The day comes and goes much too quickly though. He gets briefed on how the Prince’s meetings went with the advisors and parliament. Some of them liked him, some of them didn’t. Par for the course. 

Hm. Maybe Louis should make him go golfing with the Prime Minister. They’re both white men, and the Prince is always in for a new outfit. Get a couple of candids on the green, something where it looks like he’s being nice to someone who gives him some water. Yeah, that could work. Louis adds it to his mental to-do. 

Louis wakes up early the day after and makes his way over to the Prince’s room. He raps three times on the door, and waits a full minute before the door opens. 

The Prince is standing, looking like he just rolled out of bed and threw on whatever grey joggers he took off the night before. They’re on his hips, but just enough so they cover the goods, not high enough to leave anything to the imagination anyway. 

“What took you so long?”

The Prince yawns and then smirks, sliding a hand down the door as he says, “If I knew it was you, wouldn’t have bothered getting dressed.” 

“You call this dressed?”

“Compared to the nothing I had on a few moments ago, yes.” 

Louis rolls his eyes. “Right, well, you can be however you like in a minute, I just wanted to give you this and tell you we’re leaving for the radio station at 10am.”

“Interview’s not until noon,” Prince Harry says, slight confusion on his face. 

Louis shrugs. “Paul said they needed extra time to sweep, and wasn’t sure how crazy it was going to get outside of the studio. And before you think it’s for you, it’s mostly because Lewis Capaldi is being interviewed in the same building at half eleven.” 

“Mmm, America’s Sweetheart,” Harry offers, and then yawns again. Louis can’t help the smile that pulls at his lips. 

He raises an eyebrow. “A fan, are we?”

Harry nods seriously. “Of course. Are you not?”

“No, no I am,” Louis says. “Just seems a little… dunno.” 

Harry raises an eyebrow in question. 

“I guess it just seems like sad music.”

“It is sad music.”

“Yeah but, sad for  _ you _ .” 

“It’s sad for everyone.”

“Yeah, I know, it’s just—” Louis shakes his head. “No, nevermind. His album is great, it’s nice that you like him.” 

Harry crosses his arms. “What do you think I listen to?”

Louis hasn’t really thought about it. Of course he hasn’t.

“Dunno. Princely music.”

Harry looks like he’s going to laugh at Louis, and Louis does  _ not  _ like that one bit. 

“Whatever,” Louis says, waving a hand at him. “Be ready to go at 10am. And read that, and be ready to talk about it when what’s-his-face is asking you questions.” 

“What's-his-face?” Harry asks, too amused for Louis’ comfort. 

“Your making-you-drink-yourself-under-the-table friend.” 

“Ah,” Harry says on a tense chuckle. “About that, let’s not mention it, yeah?”

“About how he let you drink almost an entire bottle of vodka by yourself on top of getting high? Or how he likes to see you drink too much?”

Harry winces. “That’s not really fair.”

“That’s exactly what you told me. And if we hadn’t had this interview planned for weeks, and if people didn’t  _ love  _ his stupid show, then I would have canceled it the moment you said that.” 

And suddenly, all tension is gone, and there’s a little smirk. “Aw, Louis, you worried for me?”

Louis crosses his arms, mirroring his position, and looks at Harry pointedly. He hopes his expression says  _ ‘I’m worried you might put a damper on my career if you die of alcohol poisoning while I’m working’  _ but by the Prince’s expression he’s not sure it lands correctly. 

“People who like to keep you around for their own amusement aren’t your friends.”

The smirk slowly slides off Harry’s face. He looks down at his feet as he shuffles them back and forth a little. 

“Anyway,” Louis says, “10am.”

Harry looks up and him, making piercing eye-contact. After a beat, he nods. When he does, Louis turns away and takes a breath to steady himself. He’s just so. He’s just so  _ much _ . All the time. So much. 

The drive to the radio station is uneventful. Paul was right, and there is a fairly sizable crowd on either side of the doors, held back by some ropes. 

Harry looks out at them through the tinted windows a little nervously. 

“We’re going around back,” Louis explains.

Harry nods but continues to look out at all of the people. 

They make it up to the studio in one piece and wait until the security team gives the final all-clear before they can make their way into the booth. 

Before Louis can step through the door, he feels a tug at his elbow. He looks down at it, then up at Harry, who’s holding onto it gently, slight pleading look in his eyes. “Just,” Harry says. Then he huffs out a breath. “Just don’t make it a thing, okay?”

Louis takes that to mean, don’t make it obvious Louis knows what Nick is like as a friend and don’t tell him that he’s a piece of shit. But Louis is a professional, he wasn’t planning to.

Maybe a mild glare. But that would be all. And any of them could chalk that up to Louis’ annoyance at Harry. 

Louis nods and says, “Okay.” Harry releases his elbow and nods, and then looks to the door, gesturing for Louis to go on ahead of him. They walk in, and then Louis stands off to the side to watch Harry smile at Nick. 

“Harry!” Nick shouts out, beaming at him. He puts down the headphones he was holding and makes his way over to give Harry a tight, squeezing hug. “Lovely to see you.”

“And you,” Harry says, still smiling. Then he turns to his right, where Paul and Louis are standing against a wall. “You’ve met Paul, but this is my PR manager, Louis.”

“Yes!” Nick says, turning his bright smile to Louis. “I believe I spoke with you when we booked this.” He offers his hand for a handshake, and Louis takes it, smiling politely. 

“I believe you did.”

“Oh, wow, strong grip.” His smile is still bright as anything, but he’s making no move to let go, so Louis does, and then nearly has to rip his hand out of the other man’s grasp. 

“Mum always taught me a firm handshake was important,” Louis says, “it’s done me well.”

“Mm, it sure has,” Nick says, eyes scanning a little lower to Louis’ face, down his neck, over his shoulders and chest, where it’s covered in a dark grey suit, white button up, and bright blue tie. Louis feels offended, all of a sudden, but he can’t pin-point why. 

“Right, well,” Louis says. “You should have gotten my list of blacklisted topics. Did you have any questions on it?”

“No, no questions,” Nick says, making eye-contact again after raking up the length of his body. 

Christ, does this man have no shame? They’re literally in a room full of people. Two are specifically watching this interaction. One of them is supposedly his good mate. 

Louis’ eyes flicker over to Harry, who looks like he’s maybe caught between anger and confusion, staring at the side of Nick’s face. 

Hm. Maybe they’ve had a thing. Or, more cringe-worthy, maybe they currently  _ have  _ a thing. Louis crosses his arms and he holds back his sigh; yet another thing that could make his life harder. Does he ever keep it in his pants?

“Shouldn't you start setting up?” Louis asks. 

“Mm?” Nick hums. And then, “Oh, yes! Come on  _ Your Highness _ lets get your crown.” He pointed to a pair of headphones on the table in front of a large mic. 

While they get situated, Louis turns to Paul. “So what’s the story there?”

Paul looks at him, impassive as always. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, has our young Prince been canoodling with the radio heartthrob?”

Paul shakes his head, but it’s not a  _ no.  _ “I am not at liberty to discuss the Prince’s personal life.” 

Louis nods, and then grins a little. “But like, if you  _ were  _ at liberty, what would you say?”

A slight quirk of the corner of his mouth, but that’s all Louis gets as Paul looks back at him. It’s a little maddening, but also Louis feels a sense of calm from it. It’s something he’s learned again and again in his time with them: Harry’s team is solid and tight-lipped, even to someone else on their side. Louis likes that. He respects them for it. It’s also mostly not helpful when he’s trying to figure out how to do his job. 

“Alright, fine,” Louis says, and he shakes his head with a smile. “I’ll ask him myself.”

“I think that’s a good idea,” Paul says, leaning back against the wall, taking a glance around the room. 

Paul seems in a good mood today; it makes Louis want to wheedle him a bit more. But before he has the opportunity,  _ radio heartthrob  _ is in front of him again.

“So,” Nick says. “What are you doing after this?”

Louis wants to smack him, but he’s not done anything explicitly to warrant it, so he refrains. “He’s got some more meetings with members of parliament this evening, so I’m afraid he’ll be occupied this evening.”

“But what about you?”

Louis gives him a tight-lipped smile. “I’m afraid I’ll need to be there with him.” He won’t, and doesn’t plan to, but Louis doesn’t want to give Nick the opportunity to ask him out. 

Turns out that it doesn’t matter, because Nick makes his own opportunity. “What about this weekend then? Any plans?”

“Yes, lots of plans,” Louis says. 

“Anyway you could squeeze me into your schedule?”

“No, I don’t think so.” 

“Ah, pity,” Nick says, smiling widely, as if Louis hasn’t just rejected him three times. 

“I think you’re about to be live on air.” Louis nods over his shoulder, where there’s a countdown clock going from 15, 14, 13…

Nick gives a two-fingered salute and winks at him. “Duty calls.”

Louis rolls his eyes to Nick’s turned back, and looks over at the Prince, who’s looking at him. He looks pleased. Why does he look so pleased?

Louis doesn’t have time to think about it before they’re live, signaled by the radio engineer in the opposite booth. 

“Hello lovely listeners, and welcome to your favourite hour of the day. This is Tuning In, and I’m your host, Nick Grimshaw. With me today is my good friend. Would you like to say hi, good friend?”

“Hello,” Harry’s deep voice rings through the mic. 

“Yes, my good listeners, that dark, morbid tone can only belong to one person. It’s our very own Prince Harry Styles!”

Harry laughs and looks down at the table for a moment before he looks up and says, “Thank you for having me.” 

“Now, Harry, you’re quite dressed up today, looking proper fancy, even though this is an audio-only program. Why is that?”

“Well, Grimmy, I’m still doing my job, aren’t I, so I have to keep up appearances.”

“And what is your job, young prince?”

“To sit and look pretty, obviously.” 

Nick laughs. “And you do such a good job of it. Please, Harry, tell our listeners what you’ve got on today.”

“I’m wearing a metalic, paisley purple suit.”

“Gastly,” Nick says with a smirk. 

“You think all my clothes are gastly.”

“And I’m right every time. No one should look like you do in such horrendous outfits.” 

Harry might be blushing at that, but Louis is a little too far away to tell if it’s from the lighting. 

“Just because you live your life in button downs and jeans doesn’t mean you should call my outfits horrendous.”

“No, but the fact that they  _ are  _ horrendous gives me the right to tell the world about it.”

Harry laughs. “Whatever you say, man.”

“Now, you’ve got a big day coming up. Well, your sister has a big day; you have a fairly mild day, but still, on the whole, it’s a big day.”

“That’s true.” 

“What’s the process been like getting ready for this illustrious day?”

“It’s not been easy, that’s for sure,” Harry says. “Lots of late nights, really grinding it out.”

“Sounds torturously hard.”

“Truly.”

“And how is your sister getting on with it?”

“She’s great. She’s feeling really ready for it all, I think. I know. She’s been preparing for this for years, and while it’s an unconventional process, she’s really taking it in stride.” 

“Are you jealous at all, that she’s going to rule the country? Have all that power? Can probably change the national anthem to Beyonce’s  _ Partition  _ if she so pleases?”

“Oh, now that’s something I hadn’t thought of,” Harry says, snapping his fingers. “Damn, knew I should have fought harder.” 

“Is she easily persuadable? Could you get her to do it anyway?”

“Nah, she’s got two feet planted on the ground. She’d probably take the suggestion and come back with a dozen reasons why it’s a bad idea.”

“You’ll just have to come up with more than a dozen on why it’s a good one.”

“Baker’s dozen reasons for why we should change the national anthem to  _ Partition _ .”

Nick laughs. “I love it. Someone tell Pete to play that on his show later this afternoon, will you?” He gets a thumbs up from someone in the sound booth. “And it’s a go,” Nick says. 

They chat for a minute about the process of recording an interview like this, how different it is when Nick sets up games for his guests. He confirms they won’t be playing a game this time, but says hopefully maybe next go of it. Louis thanks the stars. Who knows what kind of game Nick would have pulled out. 

But instead, it’s something much worse. “One of the problems with interviewing your friend is that it’s hard to come up with questions when you know them so well. Listeners, could you help me out? Do any of you have a question for our Prince?”

Louis starts violently shaking his head. No. Absolutely not. He makes a cut off motion to Nick, but he’s not even looking in Louis’ direction. 

Harry looks a bit uneasy, but he keeps his smile in place. He looks over at Louis, who shakes his head at him. Do  _ not  _ agree to this. 

A sound booth engineer makes a gesture with his hand to say they’ve got calls. 

“Ah, it looks like you do have questions. Who have we got first? What’s your name?”

_ “Hi,” _ a small soft voice cracks through the speakers. Louis puts his hands over his face and cringes.  _ “I’m Kelly.” _

“Hi Kelly!” Nick says. “What’s your question, darling?”

_ “Well, I just wanted to say, I saw Prince Harry on  _ Spill with Holly Willoughby  _ earlier this week. You were really good on there. And have you thought of hosting your own show?” _

Louis peeks through his fingers, and sees Harry visibly relax a bit. “Thank you, Kelly. I had a lot of fun. I don’t think I’d have the charisma to host a show, but thank you for the compliment.”

“Thank you, Kelly,” Nick says. “Next caller?”

_ “Hi! This is Michaela from Wales!” _

“Hi Michaela from Wales, how are you today?”

_ “I’m great thanks.” _

“Do you have a question for Prince Harry here?”

_ “I do! I’ve always wanted to ask, how do you get your hair to look so thick and shiny?” _

Harry laughs. “I usually do a coconut oil and avocado hair mask about once a week. I also take lots of vitamins and work out a lot, so I think it starts from the inside.”

_ “Oh wow, can you share the hair mask recipe?” _

“I’ll have Nick post it on his blog after the show.”

_ “Thank you!” _

“Bless, we love a bit of hair-care,” Nick says. “How about you, new caller, do you need some beauty advice?”

_ “No, no beauty advice,” _ the caller says, voice deeper and a bit rougher than the past two. 

“What’s your name and give us your question.”

_ “I’m Landon, and I’d like to know what you fancy in a man.” _

“Oh, bold one, this one!” Nick says. “Go on, Harry, what gets you going about the male population? Who has your heart racing?”

“Someone nice and fun. A nice smile doesn’t hurt,” Harry says softly to his mic. 

_ “Yeah, we’ve all heard that before, but like, build your perfect man.” _

“Cheeky,” Nick says. “But he’s right, Harry, you’re always so coy with who you fancy. Let’s build them, right here, right now. See if anyone fits the bill.”

“Well…” Harry starts. Louis is shaking his head again making ‘x’ motions with his hand. They are not supposed to be focusing on these trivial things. He needs to get him more foundational points. Louis tries to gesture that he should talk about the people. What he likes to see in his country’s active participants in the political sphere. 

Harry smirks and just stares at him as he says, “I prefer someone a bit shorter than me, I think. Although it’s not a deal breaker. Someone who’s a bit stockier, maybe. A bit thicker.”

“Short and stout, are you sure you’re not thinking of a teapot, Harry?” Nick asks. 

Harry ignores him. “He’s got to be smart. Absolutely smarter than me.”

“That’s not that hard, though, is it?” Nick teases. 

“It’s not,” Harry says, “but I want it. Want him to know so much so he can teach me. And he’s quick-witted. Has to know how to use his words.”

Louis feels his cheeks heat up and he crosses his arms, looking away. He can’t do one thing Louis tells him to do. Ever. Uses every opportunity to flirt. And for what; to this faceless person over the radio? Can’t even see the man and he’s laying it on thick. 

At least, that’s what Louis has to believe. That it’s to this person he doesn’t know, can’t see, isn’t boring his eyes into. 

“He’s passionate. Really passionate, about all the things he loves and even more-so about the things he hates. And he loves being right but can admit when he’s wrong. And he’s a good guy, a family man, someone who wants as many kids as I do.”

“Wow,” Nick says, “really diving in, Harry, got your kid’s names picked out as well?”

There’s a pause. And then Harry looks at Nick and chuckles. “Gonna name all of my kids after you, Grimmy, of course.”

“Ah, much better,” Nick says. “I think that’s all the time we have left for calls, unfortunately, but thank you all for calling in. Make sure to keep calling, I love to hear from each and every one of you.” 

They talk for a few more minutes about celebrity gossip, because of course they do. Harry makes a few dumb jokes and Nick laughs at them, but in an exhasperated sort of way, which Louis thought was endearing in the past, but now he just feels sour about it. 

The interview ends and Louis lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. 

“Thanks for having me,” Harry says, sticking out his hand. But Nick scoffs and pulls him in for a hug. Harry giggles. 

“Don’t you think I’m not still wounded!”

“About what?”

“About describing your perfect man who’s basically the opposite of me!”

Louis rolls his eyes. 

“Ah, Grimmy, you know you’re my exception for everything though.” And he winks at him. 

Bloody nightmare. Louis is already thinking of three possible solutions on how to get this man as far away from Harry as possible. Forever, if possible, but at least for the next week and half so Louis doesn’t have to deal. 

Paul moves forward and gestures for Harry to walk out in front of him. 

Louis walks up to Nick, hoping he reads as unimpressed as he feels. 

From Nick’s smile, he’d guess not. 

“Well hello,” Nick says. 

“What was that?”

“What was what?” 

“Callers. Public callers. That was not run by me. What was that?”

Nick shrugs. “It’s a part of every show. Thought you knew.”

“You’re lucky they were so tame.”

“Or what? You’d punish me?” Nick says, flirtily. Louis scoffs. 

“He’s not coming on your show again.”

“If you say so.”

Louis rolls his eyes and heads out of the booth. He sees the sign for the toilets and turns in there to collect himself. He splashes water on his face and towels off before looking at himself in the mirror. 

Before he can really start thinking about the bags under his eyes and the few grey hairs he sees on his head, the door opens again, and he looks down and pushes himself away from the sink. 

There’s a presence behind him, hands smoothing down his arms, and you’d think Louis would be used to this by now, for how often Harry does it. 

He’s not. And it’s not Harry behind him. He doesn’t even need to look up to the mirror to confirm that. 

“What are you doing,” Louis says, voice even. Not even asking, but sending the words out as a warning. 

“Thought maybe you’d want to relax,” Nick says, moving his hands up his arms and then back down again to hold lightly at his wrists. “You seem tense. I could help with that.”

Louis laughs, cold and empty. He looks up into the mirror, making eye-contact with the man who’s curling his fingers around Louis’ skin. “Get your hands off me.”

He does as he’s told, and steps back, but still with a smile on his face. “I locked the door, if you’re worried about someone walking in.”

“Wow,” Louis says. “I obviously have not been clear, so please listen. I’m not interested.”

Nick looks a bit confused. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Louis says, in place of saying  _ duh  _ like he wants to. 

“You’ve just got that whole ‘chase me, make you work for it’ vibe.” 

Louis rolls his eyes. “Maybe when I was younger, but those are games I don’t play anymore.” 

“What games do you play?”

“Oh fuck off, save your game playing for people who want it.”

“Mm, guess I’ll just call Harry then, see if he’s up for something.”

Louis’ eyebrows shoot up to his hairline and he turns around. “Stay away from him.”

And it’s Nick’s turn for raised eyebrows. “Really?”

“Yes, really, he doesn’t need bad influences and half-hearted friends in his life.”

“And you think I’m one of those?”

“I think you’re both of those.”

“And what makes you think that?”

“You made him drink an entire bottle of vodka on his own!” Louis near-shouts. 

“Pft,” Nick says, and waves his hand. “I’ve seen him do much more damage to himself than a bit of vodka. Have you seen him on a few shots of gin? Absolutely wrecks him.” 

Louis narrows his eyes. “So maybe you shouldn’t encourage him to drink so much.”

Nick just shrugs. “He’s funnier that way. It makes his long dumb stories have more pizzaz.”

“Wow.”

“What? He’s a pretty face and a good kid, but he’s dumb as a rock. You heard his answers today.”

Louis shakes his head. “Unbelievable. You know, when I first started this job, I thought he was dumb, too, I’ll admit. But you know how long it took me to realize he wasn’t? Two days. Two. Days. How long have you been friends with him?”

Nick just shrugs, but he does look a little guilty.

“I’m going to go out on a limb and say longer than two days,” Louis says. “Harry is smart and funny and kind. When he wants to be, anyway. And I didn’t know why he wouldn’t want to be, except that maybe he thinks he’s not capable of it or not allowed to be. And I see why when he’s got friends like you.”

“Hey, that’s not fair.”

Louis shrugs, big and exaggerated, and he hopes Nick feels the  _ fuck you  _ attached to it. “The world’s not fair, Grimmy! The world is full of things that make life hard and things that make you hurt, but if you were an adult you would realize that.”

And Louis is more than done with this conversation, so he pushes past him, unlocks the door, and starts making his way out of the room when he bumps right into Prince Harry.

Who’s looking at him like he heard exactly what Louis just said. 

Fuck.

“What are you doing here?” Louis asks. “I thought you were going to the car?”

“Needed the loo,” Harry says, eyes boring into Louis’ own. 

And then they flick up and it’s kind of scary how fast his face goes stone-cold. Louis turns and sees Nick there, smiling but looking uneasy. 

“I’m going to go for a walk, I think,” Louis says. “No need to wait for me, I’ll make my own way back.”

“We’ll wait,” Harry says. “Nick and I should chat quickly, anyway.”

“No, no need. Go on when… you’re ready. I’ll see…well. Bye.” And Louis speed walks away. 

He gets out of the building and breathes, and it’s only then he realizes he wasn’t. Fucking hell, he wasn’t supposed to hear Louis say any of those things. He’d literally told Louis to drop it, and he had until he saw the smug son-of-a-bitch’s face. 

Fucking Nick Grimshaw and his charming swagger that makes him think he can have whatever he wants, that makes him think it’s okay to pass Harry off as dumb just because they… well Louis doesn’t really know why he thinks Harry’s dumb. All Louis knows is that he’d meant what he’d said, but he’ll take it back if Harry presses him on it. 

He’s walking fast enough that his breath is getting ragged, and really he’s in no rush so he tries to slow himself down. He tries to stroll, but finds he’s got too much energy for leisureliness, so he settles on just walking. 

It’s early afternoon, and there are loads of people out. And it’s a nice day as well, so there are hands filled with ice lollies and ice cream cones. 

Before he realizes it, he’s walking through a small street fair, surrounded by people playing games and vendors calling out to get people to buy their treats and merchandise. There’s a little sign on a few of the booths, letting Louis know this is for a fundraiser for the community, and 20% of the proceeds go to renovating the community center.

They’ve done a good job, it seems, with the amount of people out. Louis’ just starting to catelogue what else they’ve done for the fundraiser when a group of teenage boys run past him, one of them holding a bag of fairy floss. They’re loud, laughing and pushing each other, bumping into nearly everyone and calling out half-hearted apologies behind them.

All of a sudden there’s too much stimuli for Louis, and he feels his heart rate quicken. He takes a sharp left turn down a side street and takes a quieter road back to the palace. 

There are still a good few people on this road, but without so much color and excitement, Louis feels like he can breathe again. 

A fundraiser. A fundraiser of some sort would be good. Louis’ always liked that aspect of a job — donating, giving back, the beneficial balance of helping someone’s image and making a difference to a bigger charity or smaller organization. 

Something to add to his to-do. 

He takes his time, stops at a chipper and gets a bag of chips, loading it with salt and vinegar. Then he goes to the park and walks on the path while he watches a few lads play football. He can’t really play in his suit, so he doesn’t ask to join like he wants to. He moves on when the group starts backing up. 

He’s almost at the palace again when he walks past a small, four story building with a plaque that reads  _ Home and Hope.  _ It’s made of solid tan brick and lots of plain windows. It sticks out along this stretch of road, where there are more sleek glass buildings than anything else. He notices some colourful drawings pressed against a couple of window panes. 

It doesn’t look like there’s any other information on the outside, so Louis steps to the right so he’s out of the way of anyone walking past and pulls out his mobile to do a quick search. 

_ Home and Hope - finding the right home for kids and teens within the foster care system for more than a decade.  _

Huh. 

Yeah. Something like this could work. He puts his mobile away and continues on. 

By the time Louis walks up to the palace, it’s dark out. He doesn’t know how long he’s been walking for, but there’s a gentle ache in his legs that says it’s been a while. His suit feels a bit heavy on him, as well, and he can’t wait to take it off. 

He passes a few people as he makes his way through the halls, and smiles politely at them and they do the same. He makes it to his room and immediately starts stripping out of his clothes, pulling off his suit jacket and throwing it onto his bed as he turns on the light. He just wants a nice shower and then he’ll go over and talk to Harry. 

He pulls at the knot in his tie and slides it out from his collar. The Prince, he corrects himself. He’ll talk to  _ the Prince _ . When had he even started calling him by Harry in his head. 

Louis unbuttons the top of his button down and pulls the shirt tails out from his trousers. He can go to the Prince’s room, if he’s even there. And if he is, they’ll talk about the next couple of days. And then he can come back to his room, binge-watch something stupid, and fall asleep. Simple. 

He grabs at the back of his button down and undershirt and pulls it off of his body. He’s going for his belt when he hears an “Oh” and he freezes. 

His heart is pounding. Who the fuck…

“I’m sorry,” Harry says and Louis whips around to find him curled up in one of the armchairs by the window, just looking at Louis. “I’m sorry I just—”

“What are you doing in here!” Louis shouts. “This is my room.”

“I know, I just…” but then he trails off and Louis watches him eye up his chest, seemingly distracted. Louis grabs for his shirts and tugs them on again, just so he doesn’t feel so exposed. 

“You just, what? Thought breaking and entering was okay?”

Harry shakes himself out of it a little enough to make eye-contact. “Your tattoo—”

“Don’t try to change the subject!”

There’s a long beat, but Harry finally stands as he says, “I was waiting outside, because I didn’t want to miss you when you came back, but then it was a long time and I tried the door and it was open, so I sat down and I must’ve fallen asleep.”

Louis shakes his head in disbelief. “Get out.”

“I just wanted to talk about earlier.”

“You went on a dickhead’s show and answered some questions that you shouldn’t have. There. We’ve talked about it. Get out.”

“But in the toilets—”

“Your dickhead friend was being a dickhead. Covered. Get out.”

“But you said—”

“I said he was a dickhead.”

“Yeah and—”

“And I—”

“Would you let me finish a sentence!” Harry shouts. He walks a few steps closer and throws his arms out to his side. It’s when Louis notices something in his hand. It’s green and Harry’s giant hand is clutching onto it. Louis sets his jaw when he realizes what it is. “No,” he says. 

Harry groans, exasperated. “I just want to have a serious conversation for once.”

“Maybe try being serious about the political discussions we’re having this week, then you can have one. Win-win.”

“Louis—”

“No, Harry, I’m tired, and I’m hungry and I can’t do this right now.”

A pause. And then Harry says, in a smaller voice, “Maybe… do you want to go out to dinner? Somewhere quiet and just… I just want to talk about it.”

“Unbelievable,” Louis scoffs. He reaches out and swipes the little toy bus from Harry’s hand. He looks dismayed, but doesn’t have a chance to yell before Louis says, “Get out of my room.”

Harry’s clenches his teeth as his eyes flicker down to Louis’ hands. “Fine,” he says, and he opens the door and storms out, not bothering with another look at Louis. Louis sighs and closes the door behind him, making sure it’s locked this time. Always going to need to be locked from now on, Christ. Who does he think he is? 

Louis sets the little toy bus down on top of his bedside locker and shakes his head. 

He has his shower and when he comes out he turns his mobile back on. 

There’s one missed call from Paul, two from an unknown number, and three from Niall. There are also several texts from Niall, so he clicks into those first. 

Niall (1:10pm):  _ Listen mate, I know you said it was a no-go  _

Niall (1:10pm):  _ but he countered for five times our normal rate.  _

Niall (1:11pm):  _ I said no, because I knew that’s what you’d want.  _

Niall (1:11pm):  _ But then he offered 6x ! _

Niall (1:11pm):  _ And then I said no just to see how far they’d go.  _

Niall (1:11pm):  _ I had to literally stop myself at 10x from having a heart attack.  _

Niall (1:11pm):  _ 10x _

Niall (1:11pm):  _!!!!! _

Niall (1:11pm):  _ ten _

Niall (1:12pm):  _ times _

Niall (1:12pm):  _ our _

Niall (1:12pm):  _ normal _

Niall (1:12pm):  _ rate _

Niall (1:12pm):  _ Please please please reconsider.  _

Louis just looks at them and shuts his eyes tightly before he responds. 

Louis (7:23 pm):  _ no _

It only takes a couple of minutes to get a reply back. 

Niall (7:25 pm):  _ for fucks sake _

Niall (7:26 pm):  _ tell me what you’re after then _

Niall (7:26 pm):  _ because i’m pretty sure i could wrangle a full mil if you wanted.  _

Louis lets out a frustrated noise. Because of course. Of course it is going to be this way. He says one not-mean thing and the Prince is latching onto it like a leech; out for blood. 

Louis (7:29 pm): _ I’m not interested, no matter what the money.  _

Louis (7:33 pm): _ I did 5 weeks as a favour to you, Ni. I can’t do any more. I won’t do any more. Don’t want to be harsh, but I cannot be tempted to stay here any longer past my contract. That’s it. 5 weeks and I’m out. That’s my upper limit. Hell 5 days was probably my upper limit, but here I am. 8 days left and then I’m out of here and finally done with this work.  _

Niall (7:45 pm): _ You’re right, I’m sorry Lou. I remember you saying something happened. I didn’t think.  _

Louis (7:47 pm): _ It’s not about what happened, I just can’t stand any more of him.  _

He just can’t stand it anymore. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Tuned In is not a real radio program, and I have no actual bad things to say about or weird vibes towards Nick Grimshaw.


	6. Chapter 6

Harry is gone. 

“He flew to Paris to see a friend, I think,” Cedric tells him as he stirs some kind of white sauce. 

Louis scowls and digs his fingernails into his palms. “Did he say how long he would be gone for?”

“He did not,” Cedric says, “but usually when he leaves, it is for only for two or three days.”

“Great,” Louis says. “That’s great. Because we don’t have any press conferences or things to plan. Sure, why doesn’t he just take off without letting me know, leaving me to cancel or reschedule all of his interviews. Why not! Why bloody not!” Louis is laughing at the end of it, before he collapses down in a stool by the workbench. 

“ _ Mon soliel, _ ” Cedric says, a soft tone to his voice. “Do you like strawberries?”

“What?”

“Strawberries.”

Louis chuckles, a sort of disbelieving little laugh. “Yeah, Cedric, I love strawberries.”

“ _ Fantastique _ . You will have some strawberry roulade with me.” 

Cedric goes to the closest refrigerator and pulls out an oval, wooden platter with a white, log-looking thing sitting on top, covered in plastic wrap. He cuts it down the middle, and then once on either side, so there are two portions. He places them on little white plates with a gold trim around the edge, and then carefully slices two strawberries to garnish them. 

He hands Louis one of the little plates and the tiniest fork he’s ever seen, and Cedric sits beside him with his own, digging right in. 

“I can never get roulades right,” he says conspiratorially. “I can do almost anything else, but roulades escape me. Chef Arguinano gets them perfect every time. I am so blessed to be working with her.” He takes another bite of his dessert and closes his eyes in happiness. 

Louis takes a bite of his and sighs. “I’m just trying to do my job, and he’s making it so hard.”

Cedric opens his eyes to look at him. “ _ Mon soliel, _ why did you take this job?”

“A favour to a mate,” Louis says, mouthful of soft meringue and whipped cream and fresh strawberries. 

“No, but  _ why  _ did you take this job?”

“Uh… the money?” he guesses.

Cedric sighs. “I suppose there are many reasons we do something.”

Louis nods, but doesn’t really understand why Cedric seems so worn out all of a sudden, so he asks him. 

“It is not you,  _ mon soleil _ . It is just difficult for me to see someone in pain.” 

Louis huffs out a breath. It’s almost a laugh, but it’s not. “I’m not really in pain.”

Cedric gives him a pointed look.

“What?”

“Nothing, nothing. How do you like it?”

“It’s delicious.”

“Do you feel better?”

Louis finds that he does, actually. He nods. 

“Good, good. Now, how will you spend your day?”

“I guess I’ll get to calling everyone affected by the Prince’s… absence. Maybe give Paul a ring to see when they’ll be back. Get my final paperwork rolling.”

“Ah, no, it’s a beautiful day!” 

Louis smiles at him. “I’ve still got work to do.”

“Is our Prince doing work today?”

“Does he do work anyday?” Louis asks.

“Just because you cannot always see his effort, does not mean he is not trying.”

Christ, Cedric sure has a lot of faith in Harry, doesn’t he? Louis wishes he could have a bit more of that himself. 

“Alright, alright, you big softie. I’ll also take a walk or something.”

“Yes! Some sunshine for  _ mon soleil.  _ Maybe down the main stretch of road, yeah? To the bakery we’ve talked about before or the little flower shop.”

Louis feels his eyes crinkle as Cedric kisses the side of his head. He takes the last bite of his dessert, and feels better. Maybe he should eat dessert more often. 

The day comes and goes however, and Louis finds he’s not stepped outside once, too busy trying to reschedule appointments and interviews accordingly. He keeps scheduling and then trying to rearrange the scheduled times based on the others availability and it’s exhausting. 

Louis accidentally falls asleep at 9pm still wearing a face mask, and then wakes up at 6am with dried green flakes on his skin and all over his pillow. He huffs out a  _ ungh  _ before washing his face, pulling on his nicest joggers, a loose light blue jumper and a black beanie, and heading outside. 

A few weeks ago, on his day off, he’d stumbled upon some lads playing footie in a nearby park and they’d invited him to join the game. If he’s lucky, he’ll be able to find a group to play with again. The palace has a fitness center, one Louis has been to a few times a week since he’s been here, but Harry is often in there running twenty miles or doing five thousand press-ups or whatever else he does to show off, so Louis tries to avoid it. That and he’s always been more partial to exercise when it’s a game; it feels more rewarding that way. 

It’s not even 8am when he steps outside. It’s quiet, and has the soft, misty feeling only early mornings in unfamiliar places have. Louis breathes in and the air feels fresher than it has in a long while. It’s nice. 

He makes his way over to a nearby bakery, tucked away on a side street that fewer tourists go down, but the ones that do find a gem. It’s got a grey-blue trim along the front, and a window with a homemade sign saying “Open!” with a little hand-drawn smiley face to the right of it. 

Louis pushes the door open, and sees quite a few people in here already. 

“Be with you all in just a minute!” a girl behind the counter calls out, speed-walking into the back. Is that..?

Then there’s a loud clash and a gasp, and then a frustrated cry. 

A small, older woman calls out, “Is everything alright, dear?”

Silence for a beat, but then a voice calls back, cracking a little, saying, “Everything’s fine!”

Louis looks around at the other patrons, who all look a bit worried and unsure. He slowly makes his way to the front to try and peer into the back to see what’s going on. He only manages to make out the corner of an upside-down tray and half a dozen cupcakes, either frosting-down or tipped over on the floor. 

“Eleanor?” Louis calls out, making his way around the counter. “I’m coming back there.”

As he goes through, he sees Eleanor kneeling on the ground, surrounded by cupcakes, and crying into her apron. She looks up, and flushes even more. “Oh, Louis,” she says on a sob, like she can’t decide if she’s happy to see him or not.

He squats down next to her. “You okay?”

She nods and looks at the fallen cupcakes and tsks at them before sobbing out again. Tentatively, Louis reaches out and pats her shoulder twice before pulling back. 

“It’s gonna be okay,” he says.

She just nods. 

“What are you doing here, anyway?”

She wipes a few tears with her hand, but continues to cry as she turns the pan back over and drops the fallen cupcakes into it. They make an aggressively sad sound as they hit the aluminium. 

“This is my parent’s place. And my mum had to take Granddad to hospital and my dad was supposed to be here but he’s having trouble with his car this morning and we got a last minute order for twenty-five cupcakes for some kids and there are people waiting and—”

“Hey, hey, slow down,” Louis says, palms facing down. “Just breathe a moment, yeah?”

And to be fair, she does, but it doesn’t seem like it works for her. 

“Okay, how can I help?”

“I don’t know,” she says. “I’ve got to get these cupcakes redone but I’ve also got to serve people out there, and I was supposed to deliver these, but it doesn’t look like I can get there on time, especially if I have to be here and Dad’s car’s not working—”

“Breathe,” Louis says, interrupting her rambling. 

She does again, and it’s still shaking. Okay, so she’s not good under pressure, which is okay because Louis is. 

He rolls up his sleeves and says, “You focus on the cupcakes, I’ll handle the customer’s in here right now, and we can regroup in a few minutes, yeah?”

“What?” she says, looking up at him. “You’re gonna help me?”

“Of course,” he says, “now, up you get. We’ve got some work to do.” 

She sniffles again and then takes his outstretched hands and lets Louis pull her to her feet. “I can show you how to use the cash register.”

“No need,” he says, “I’ve worked with it before.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, old boyfriend used to work in a shoe shop that used the same kind, and I helped him out once or twice. Was helpless that one.” A look of realization washes over her face as she looks at him, and Louis realizes he outed himself. There’s that problem sorted. “But you are not helpless, so let’s get going. Do you need to remake all the cupcakes?”

She snaps herself out of her dazed state and shakes her head. “I just need to decorate after some have finished cooling. And probably remake them so we have enough later.” 

“Great” Louis says. “Start remaking the cupcakes, and then decorate once the others are cooled. I’m going to head out there. Holler if you need.” 

He turns around but stops when he hears her say, “Thank you,” very quietly. 

He turns for a moment to nod at her and give a soft smile. Then he claps his hands and says, “Let’s get to work!”

When he comes back out, he’s faced with twice as many customers as when he went in. “Right,” he says. “Go easy on me, I’ve not done this in years.” He steps up to the register and nods at the lady who’d called out to Eleanor earlier. “What can I get you, love?”

Twenty minutes later, and Louis’ got into the groove of things. There was a steady stream of customers for a while, but Louis serves the last one, and when they leave the shop, Louis walks around the counter to flip the “Open!” sign over to say “Back in 5!” before going in the back to check on Eleanor. 

There are still tear-tracks on her cheeks, but she looks determinedly at each cupcake as she frosts them, and then puts a little topping of sprinkles or candy when she’s through. 

“There,” Louis says, when she’s finished the last one in the row. 

She turns and gives him a little smile. “Hi.”

“They look lovely!” Louis says. “Hope you don’t mind, but I locked the door and put the ‘back in 5’ sign out.”

She shakes her head. “No, no, it’s fine.” She sighs. “I’ll need to change it to ‘back in 30’ somehow in a minute. Got a call from my dad that he’s got to go to the mechanic with the car, so I’ve got to walk these over to deliver them. Thank you for your help, you’re a lifesaver.” 

Louis looks at the tray in front of her and then shrugs. “Where’re they going?”

“Home and Hope up the road,” she says. And Louis remembers seeing and researching that on his walk the other day. 

“I know where that is,” he says, nodding at the cupcakes, “I can take them so you can stay here if you’d like.” 

“No, Louis, I couldn’t ask you to—”

“You’re not asking, are you?”

Eleanor laughs a little and then grimaces. “You’ve already helped so much, though—”

“Ah, come off it. How many times have you made me tea and breakfast since I’ve been here. The least I could do, really.”

She blushes at that, but Louis pretends not to notice. “Yeah, alright. Alright if you wouldn’t mind, that would be a big help, thank you. Thank you so—”

Louis laughs. “It’s a short walk to deliver cupcakes, El, I’m not solving the world hunger crisis.”

Eleanor laughs and then shakes her head. “Sorry, it’s just nice of you.” She breathes deeply again, and then stares at the tray in front of her. “Let me just get these into a nice box and they’ll be good to go.” 

Louis helps her, and he’s ready to go in under five minutes. Eleanor writes a short note and tapes it to the top, thanks him three more times before he pulls himself out the door. He leaves with three scones for himself (upon insistence), leaving Eleanor to the queue of people he left when he turns the sign back to “Open!”

The walk is uneventful, at just past 9am, and he makes it there in ten minutes. Home and Hope looks softer in the morning light, and Louis loves it that bit more. He smiles as he knocks on the door. 

A young man, probably no more than twenty, opens the door and smiles, but looks at him curiously. “Hi, can I help you?”

“Hello,” Louis says, “I’ve just come to drop some cupcakes off.”

The lad looks a little surprised. “Today?” he asks. And Louis thinks that’s odd, as he’s clearly got a box filled with cupcakes in his arms this very moment, so, erm,  _ obviously.  _ He nods instead of saying that. 

He looks down and sees the note. “Sorry,” he says, “it’s just that Eleanor usually gives us a ring before the deliveries.” He carefully holds the underside of the box as he takes the note off. The lad opens it, reads it, and then nods as he opens the door all the way to let Louis in. 

“If you could just set them on that little table, that would be great.”

Louis does as he’s told and then looks around. There’s lots of yellow and blue decor, including some framed drawings, signed in the corner by each child who drew it. He loves it and smiles at the wall in front of him. 

“Cute, aren’t they?” the lad asks, smiling up at them. “When someone gets adopted, we ask that they sign one of their drawings for us and we hang it up.”

“Oh, that’s lovely,” Louis says, bringing his hand over his heart. 

He nods, still looking at them. “The older kids grumble a bit, but I think they like it as well. Unfortunately,” he breathes out a sigh, “less of those here.”

Louis nods. He knows older kids are less likely to get adopted. His mum and stepdad were foster parents when he was growing up. When his younger sisters, Daisy and Phoebe, first came to stay with them, they were eleven years old and had been in the system for three years. They were adopted as Tomlinsons just after their twelfth birthdays. From them, he knew growing up in the system was hard and they felt lucky. A year after they were adopted, when Louis was eighteen, he started consistently volunteering at their community center and saw a lot of kids their age who were a bit less lucky.

“How many kids have you got here?” Louis asks. 

“Fourteen at the moment.”

Louis nods. “How many on average?”

The lad shrugs and finally looks at him. “Between fifteen and eighteen. More if we can manage, but it usually means pushing extra beds into one of the rooms, which isn’t ideal.” 

Louis nods again, and looks a bit more seriously at him. “And would you have more if you had more room?”

“Yeah, if we could. But it all comes down to funding and staffing. We get enough money, but could always do with more. We’re not the biggest organization, so we get by with what we can.”

“How would you feel if I said I could get you more money?”

The lad laughs. “I’d say we’re ready whenever you are.”

Louis smiles, feels his eyes crinkle at the sides as he laughs with him. “I will absolutely be donating, but I think I can get some others to, as well.”

“You got friends in high places?”

Louis smiles to himself. “Something like that. Are you in charge of events?”

He shakes his head. “No, that’d be Mrs. Doyle, the office manager. She doesn’t get in until later, I’m afraid.”

“That’s alright,” Louis says. “Would she be here this afternoon?”

The lad nods and scratches the side of his head. “Around 2pm.” 

“Perfect,” Louis says. “I’ll be by early this afternoon to speak with her about a fundraiser, if you wouldn’t mind passing the message along.” Louis takes out his wallet. “Could you give her my card? See, I’m very professional.”

He takes it and looks at it. “Oh, wow. Is delivering cupcakes a side business, then?” he jokes. 

Louis laughs. “No, just a favour to a mate.”

“A good mate you are.”

He is, isn’t he? To one and all. Even those that don’t know and wouldn’t appreciate it. 

Louis says his goodbye and walks back to the palace with purpose, formulating the idea in his head as he takes a scone out of his white paper bag and starts munching on it. 

A fundraiser. Say it was the Prince’s idea. Have him be the frontman of the evening. Sell seats for a grand, a table for five grand. Get big businesses in the area to donate for raffles. Louis smiles as he walks and chews happily. 

He spends just a few minutes pulling together the proposal. He’s worked on enough of these that he could probably right one in his sleep, and he’s already had this one drafted for weeks. Originally, when he first started at the Palace, he’d wanted to do a fundraiser right away. When he thought the Prince wouldn’t be so… difficult. His time was otherwise occupied, but he’s got a newfound energy for it now. He prints one out to take with him and emails a copy to the head of the palace PR team. 

Before he leaves again, he puts on his navy-blue suit with a forest green tie. His lucky suit. The one that got him the job originally at Fireproof and at his last firm. The one that fits him to a T and makes him feel confident as anything. 

He arrives back at Home and Hope just after 3pm and knocks on the door again. 

The same lad answers the door, and smiles when he recognizes Louis. “Ah, hello again!” he says. “Come with all that money you spoke of?”

“Not yet, but hopefully soon,” Louis says. “Is Mrs. Doyle in?”

He nods and opens the door to let him in. “I’ll just go and get her.” 

Louis nods and looks around the entryway as the lad walks into the adjacent room. He hears some general murmuring, and then sees a woman round the corner, smiling sort of curiously at him. 

“Hello, I’m Patricia.” They give each other polite, friendly smiles. “I’m sorry, I know you’re looking for Mrs. Doyle, but before Owen gets her, I just wanted to check what this was about?”

“Yes, of course,” Louis says, reaching out to shake the woman’s hand. “I’m Louis Tomlinson, a PR representative for Prince Harry Styles. I was wondering if you’d be open to helping me host a fundraising event for your organization?”

Usually, when people hear “fundraising event for you” they are elated. Eager to help. Asking what they need to do. 

Instead, because it’s Prince Harry, the woman falters. “Oh, erm...”

Louis is quick to try and sooth her worries. “We don’t have to do anything with the kids, so they won’t be around the Prince at all. I was thinking it should be a nighttime dinner, where the members of the royal family and parliament can buy for themselves, maybe sell tables to the public. There will need to be a higher security of course, but I’ll handle all of that.”

Patricia still looks uneasy. Maybe she’s still not sold on the concept. Louis can fix that. 

“Apologies, I haven’t run this by the rest of the PR and security teams yet, so I shouldn’t be making any promises, but when I came by earlier, I just had this pull to Home and Hope. I think whatever we can do to help could really be beneficial to your work here.” 

The thing is, he’s maybe the most sincere about this offer than he has been with any other fundraiser endeavor ever. In the past, with his clients, it’s been a more even 50/50 split on the benefits of an event like this. 

This...this is a solid 80/20 in favour of Home and Hope. Louis is only expecting a marginal bump in the Prince’s political standings for this, but they really could raise some good money, have it go towards something really good for once. Make Louis feel like his time in this job hasn’t been a complete waste. 

Patricia looks like she’s trying to let him down gently, but Louis doesn’t give up that easily. 

“I can see that you have some concerns,” he says. “Maybe Mrs. Doyle would be the best person to discuss all the details with.” He gives her what he hopes is an understanding smile. 

Finally, she looks relieved. “Yes, actually, that might be for the best.” She starts walking the way she came and motions for Louis to follow her into a small room off of a long hallway. “You can wait in here, if you don’t mind?”

“Of course,” Louis agrees. Patricia nods to a chair for Louis to sit in, and she makes her way out of the room, closing the door behind her. 

Louis straightens his tie and sits down. He wonders what kind of person he’ll be trying to convince. He was fairly confident he could convince Patricia, given the reception from the lad —Owen— earlier. 

Actually, that’s a lie, he didn’t think he’d need to convince anyone at all. But he’s quick on his feet and can always pivot when needed. 

Suddenly, Louis hears a loud screech from outside the door, and his heart jumps as he instinctively goes to open the door and make his way towards the sound. 

He comes upon an archway leading into a sitting room, it seems, with yellow sofas lining the walls and some toys halfhearted strewn about. Pretty standard for an in-between foster care center. 

What is not standard, is seeing the Prince of England on all fours with his back to Louis, several scarves and one very silly purple hat on his body as he playfully growls and swats at four small children around him. 

Louis’ eyes dart around the room, trying to get more clues, a more reasonable explanation, but he can’t. He can’t find even one. Prince Harry is crawling around on the ground. He’s playing with children. Children who scream in delight when they narrowly miss his hand fake-swatting at them. 

“Mr. Tomlinson!” He hears from behind him. And then Harry stops mid-grumble to whip his head around to look over his shoulder, looking caught out when he makes shocked eye-contact with Louis.

Louis is frozen, even as someone tries to pull at his elbow to get him to turn around, but he can’t. He’s frozen. And it seems Harry is as well, arm halfway extended from his body, even as this children tug at his sleeves, until finally one of them pounces on him (having obviously decided she is now the monster since the current monster has abandoned his growling and swatting role) and it knocks him off balance so he falls over. 

“Mr. Tomlinson, please, come to the office with me this very moment.”

Louis finally turns to look at a stern-looking woman who looks about mid-sixties, hair starting to turn grey, and wearing high-waisted, brown  _ I-mean-business _ trousers. He nods and walks in front of her back to the little room. He sits in the chair he was just in and folds his hands in his lap. 

“Mr. Tomlinson,” the woman says. Louis looks up and makes eye-contact with her. “I understand you work for the palace, and are a part of the Prince’s public relations team, but I need you to realize how delicate our relationship with him is. He’s been very clear that if anyone knows he’s been donating to us, all funds will cease. And the children don’t know who he is, they’re only young, and they’d miss him so much if he were to stop coming by. I think we can come up with some sort of—”

She’s cut off by the sound of the door opening. She looks up and pulls her lips into a thin line as she sits back in her chair. 

Louis doesn’t turn around.

“Mrs. Doyle,” Harry’s low voice cuts straight through Louis. “Could you give us a moment?”

Mrs. Doyle nods and stands, making her way out of the room. Louis hears the door click behind him. 

There’s silence. Silence for nearly a whole minute. 

Harry finally comes around and sits in the chair beside Louis, just on the edge of it, with his elbows on his knees, hands clasped together, whole body turned towards him. He’s no longer wearing the scarves or the hat. Louis continues to stare at the wall in front of him. 

“Louis,” Harry says. But then nothing else. 

After another few seconds, Louis turns his head to the left to look at the Prince. 

“Louis, you can’t tell anyone,” he says. 

And it’s all Louis can do not to laugh. He shakes his head, incredulous. 

“I don’t—” he starts, but has to stop to collect himself. “I really, truly don’t understand.” 

Harry just keeps looking at him, like Louis’ got more to say and he doesn’t want to interrupt. 

And oh, has Louis got things to say. 

“This is a good thing. This is a very good thing to be doing. Why would you… I don’t understand why you would hide something like this when it’s a good thing and it would also do so much good for your image.”

Louis shakes his head, looks straight ahead again, and brings a hand up to his mouth. “And you clearly love it here. You donate. I don’t know how often, but I’m guessing at least once every couple of months. And the kids seem very familiar with you, and you were actually  _ playing  _ with them. I just.” He shakes his head again. 

Harry waits another few moments before he says, “I can’t answer all of your questions, but I’ll answer what I can.”

Louis closes his eyes, because the other alternative is to yell at him. “Why don’t you want people to know?”

Harry shakes his head. “Can’t answer.”

“Won’t,” Louis says, looking at him, “you can but you  _ won’t. _ ” 

Harry smiles a little but then schools his features and just nods. 

“Fine. How often do you donate?”

“About once a month,” Harry says. Then he shrugs. “Sometimes more often if they need something specific.” 

“Does the Queen know about this?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, does she know you’re the one donating?”

“No.”

“How the fuck… you know what, nevermind. Does anyone know it’s you?”

“Yes.”

“Who?”

“Won’t answer.”

“Ugh. Do you donate anywhere else?”

“No.”

“Why are you here today?”

Harry lets out a breath through his nose. “I get quarterly updates about what they need. For the organization, the building, or the kids that are here are the time. And I love children, so it’s just nice sometimes to be around them. I, erm, you sort of caught me in a particularly silly moment.”

Louis shakes his head again and huffs out a frustrated breath. “You do realize this is the exact sort of thing that would have made my life easier this entire time, right?”

The corner of Harry’s mouth quirks up. “Yes.”

“Ha.” He tips his head back and closes his eyes again. 

“Louis,” Harry says. “You can’t tell anyone about this. Mrs. Doyle is right, I said I would stop donations if anyone found out, and I meant it. Even if it comes from you.” 

“That’s some sort of sick and complicated thing you’ve got going on, you know.” 

“Yes.”

“Fuck’s sake.” Louis rolls his head to the side to look at him again. “Am I allowed to keep asking you questions if we leave this room?”

Harry studies him for a moment. “Yes, but only if we go where I want to go.” 

Louis sighs out his answer of “Fine.” He takes a moment before he stands. What a goddamn mess. 

Harry leads them out of the room and to the back of the building. He asks Louis to wait at the back door while he speaks in a hushed voice to Mrs. Doyle, who only looks at Louis towards the end of their conversation. Her expression doesn’t give anything away, but it’s far less angry than he’d expected. 

When Louis opens the door, he finds Paul sitting in a rocking chair, looking out. 

“Mr. Tomlinson,” he says, surprised. 

Louis narrows his eyes at him. “Paul.” 

Paul’s eyes twinkle a little before he looks to Harry. “The usual?”

Harry nods and Louis rolls his eyes. He guesses everyone will be speaking in code now; how fun. 

They get in the car, and Harry spends the entire ride looking at Louis, as Louis spends the entire ride looking out the window and pretending Harry’s not looking at him. The car stops along a little side street. 

Paul says, “I’ll be back in a moment.” He gets out of the car and shuts the door behind him. Three minutes later, he opens the door again and gestures for them to get out. 

Harry gets out of the car first and walks through an old-looking red door, paint fading and chipping at the corners. Louis follows after and finds himself walking into an old little pub. The place is very small and mostly empty, but Harry keeps his head down to walk past the few patrons at the bar, all the way to the back and around the corner into a little alcove with just two booths. He sits down in one of them and Louis sits down opposite him, because what else is he going to do? He’s come this far. 

“So,” Harry starts, but is immediately interrupted by a server coming around the corner and placing a menu down in front of Louis. 

“Hiya,” she says, looking directly at Louis. “I’m Clara. Do you need to see a menu?” 

She’s got a light, lilting Irish accent that reminds him a bit of Niall. His heart instantly goes a little soft for it. But sure, that’s what got him in this mess in the first place, isn’t it?

Clara holds out a small brown book and Louis takes it from her and throws her a small smile. 

“The usual, Harry?” she asks him. 

“Yes, please. Thank you, Clara,” Harry says to her. She nods at him and smiles. 

They’re friendly, Louis thinks. Maybe they’re seeing each other. Fucking hell, is there one person in this bloody city Harry isn’t seeing?

“What can I get you to drink?” she asks Louis. 

“A pint, please. And a shot of tequila.” 

Clara raises her eyebrows slightly, but she doesn’t react otherwise. 

“Actually, Clara,” Harry says, just as she’s about to turn away. “I’ll have the same.” 

She does look a little more surprised at that, but then nods and walks away from them. 

Louis holds the menu in his hands but makes no move to open it. He leans back against the wooden bench and nods towards Harry. “What’s your usual then?”

Harry’s face cracks into a lopsided grin. “Ribena.” 

Louis laughs. And even though Harry is smiling, Louis realizes it isn’t a joke. “Really?” he asks, unbelieving. 

Harry shrugs. “I like the flavour.”

Louis shakes his head. And before he knows it, Clara is back with their drinks. 

As she sets them down, she asks, “Any questions on the menu?”

Louis looks down to where it’s still in his hands. “Sorry, love, hadn’t even opened it.”

“That’s okay,” she says. “I can come back.”

“You know, I’m not sure I’m hungry, actually,” he says, and holds out the menu for her to take. 

Before she walks away, Harry says, “Can you put in an order of the fish and chips for him.”

She nods and leaves them to it. Louis shakes his head. “Can never let anything be, can you?”

Harry grabs his shot and holds it out for a cheers. “I feel like we’re going to be drinking for a while, and that’s not good on an empty stomach.” 

Louis picks up his own shot glass, shakes his head yet again as he clinks it against Harry’s, and the both down it back at the same time. Louis winces. “Not even a lime to go with it. I fucking hate tequila.” 

Harry laughs. “Why’d you order it then?”

Louis looks at him, then down at the shot glass as he taps it against the table. “Don’t know,” he says. 

But he does. It’s because he remembered Harry saying he doesn’t like vodka. Why the fuck did he do that. 

Instead of thinking about it, Louis pushes his empty little glass to the side and takes a pull of his pint. “Finally got me out for a drink, I suppose.” 

It’s Harry’s turn to wince. He looks down at his own pint and smiles ruefully at it. “Not the way I pictured it.” 

“No, I can’t imagine it is.” 

Harry’s eyes search Louis’ own. “What other questions do you have for me?”

Louis takes another drink as he looks back at Harry. He looks… well, he looks tired. And he looks open, but cautious. He looks… Louis doesn’t really know. 

“Someone said you were in Paris. Were they lying?”

“No,” Harry says, “I went to Paris for a friend’s fashion show yesterday. It was last minute. I— I am sorry I didn’t tell you.” 

“Sure,” Louis says. 

“I am.” 

“Have you been intentionally torturing me this entire time?”

“No,” Harry answers quickly. Earnestly. “I…” he starts, but then stops himself. He looks like he has something to say to that, but then closes his mouth and settles back into his seat. 

“Are there other good things you do that you don’t want people to know about?”

Harry looks off to the side, like he’s thinking, and then looks back at Louis. “None to this level, I don’t think.”

“And does anyone know about those things?”

“Yes.” 

“Who?”

“Won’t answer.” 

Louis sighs. “Should I even bother asking more questions?” he says on a laugh. He’s not expecting an answer on that one, but is surprised when Harry says, “Yes.” 

Louis tries his luck at some more about the whole thing, and Harry seems to be trying his best to return. He’s more cooperative than he’s ever been. Louis is both surprised and also not. 

Clara brings out another round of pints with their meals. She places the glasses and the plates in front of them and then leaves again. Louis finds he’s actually grateful for the food, as he feels the alcohol hitting his head a little quicker than it normally would. 

“If you’d prefer, you can have this instead,” Harry offers, gesturing to his bowl of beef stew. 

“That’s what you get every time you come here?”

Harry nods. 

“Not really a fan of stews, meself, if I’m honest,” Louis says. 

Harry smiles and grabs his spoon. “This one is the best.” 

“Really?” Louis asks. 

Harry nods again. “Do you want to try it?” 

Louis thinks about it, just looking at the soft look on Harry’s face, and he hears himself say, “Yeah, sure.”

Harry holds it out for Louis. Before he can even think about what he’s doing, he leans forward, opens his mouth and takes the portion while Harry’s still holding the spoon. In a moment, Louis realizes what he’s done and freezes. 

Across from him, Harry looks just as shocked as Louis feels. Louis pulls away quickly and looks down at his own food, feeling his cheeks heat with embarrassment. 

He swallows, clears his throat and says, “Yeah, yeah, not half bad.”

To his credit, Harry doesn’t say anything. They eat in silence for a few minutes, before he asks Louis how his fish and chips are. 

“Yeah, good,” Louis says. “Been a while since I’ve had one this good, actually. There’s a chipper up near me that I love, but they’re shit with fish.”

“Too much breading?” Harry asks. 

_ “Yes,” _ Louis says emphatically. “Not that I don’t love a good breading, but the good bit is the actual fish. Let me have some of the actual protein, you know what I mean?”

And he looks up to see Harry smiling at him. Louis realizes he’s smiling fully right back at him. He clears his throat and tries to make his face less, well,  _ manic.  _

“How’d you find this place, anyway?” he asks. 

Harry takes another bite and shrugs. “Came here quite a few times when I was younger. When I first turned eighteen. It was easier back then; my face wasn’t really in the papers or anything, since I’d lived with my dad most of the time up until then. The press didn’t really take an interest in me until I was twenty-one, anyway, and by then I didn’t come here that often, so it’s kind of not really known that this is my place.”

Louis nods slowly as he processes that. 

Harry continues, “Plus, they’ve just been really good to me over the years, so I have a soft spot for it. That and it’s not terribly busy during the day so I can sneak in and out. If I’m really in a pinch, there’s a back alley Paul and I can go down and meet the car on the other side. I’ve never needed to, but it’s nice to know it’s an option.” 

Louis takes that in as he starts on his second pint. 

Clara comes over with their third round and clears the plates. 

Louis goes to the toilets and when he comes back, he finds their fourth round of pints and another shot with a lime sitting on the rim of each. Harry smiles innocently at him as he raises it up for another cheers. 

They’re nearing the end of the bottom of their fifth when Harry mumbles something into his glass.

Louis giggles. “What?”

“I said, we get on really well.” 

Louis smiles wide and giggles again. “Yeah, when you’re not being dumb.”

“Psh,” Harry says. “You’re being dumb, too.”

“M’never dumb, Harold, I am the smartest person you’ve ever met, probably.”

“R’you telling me you’re smarter than the Dalai Lama?”

“Um, yes,” Louis says, narrowing his eyes at him. “I’ve got a degree in political science  _ and  _ art history. What degree has he got?” Harry laughs at that. Maybe too hard for what the joke is, but it makes Louis feel light in his chest. “Plus, he’s got like, what, like a dozen other versions of himself? So even if he’s smarter, I’m still smarter for the one version of meself I’ve got.”

Harry laughs very hard at that. “What does that mean?”

Louis laughs too, and he keeps on giggling as he takes another sip. “I dunno.” 

Harry laughs into his pint and takes a pull of it, not breaking eye-contact. When he pulls away from the glass he lets out a comically long  _ Ahhh  _ and continues to smile at Louis, but his eyes are a little more serious. 

“You won’t stay,” he says. 

Louis smiles, even though he doesn’t know what Harry means. He looks away to drink from his own pint again. 

“I don’t know what else to do,” Harry continues, “since it’s like no money can get you to.”

“Harold,” Louis says. He sounds like he’s endeared. But he’s not, it’s just the beer. “Why would you want me around, anyhow? I cause you nothing but grief.”

“I guess…” Harry holds the glass in both of his hands as he looks back at him. “You make me want to be better,” Harry confesses quietly. 

Louis shakes his head. He laughs again, but Harry’s trying to be serious, so he will as well. “M’glad, Harry, honest, I am. But that doesn’t do anything for me. I’ve got m’job and there’s  _ stuff  _ for me to go back to. Only took this on as a favour to a mate.” 

“Did you?” Harry asks.

Louis furrows his brows. “Yeah, of course. And I’ll be heading back to it all in a few days.”

Harry doesn’t say anything else. Just keeps staring. Always staring. It doesn’t bother him like it used to. Louis finishes his pint and places it back down before he says to it, “Right, so should we get another round, or is it time to call it?”

“I think it’s time to call it,” Paul answers, standing just to the right of them. When did he get there? “It’s 7pm, lads, the pub’s starting to get busy now.” 

“Jesus,” Louis says, looking at Harry. He giggles a little more. “Probably shouldn’t’ve started drinking at 4pm, huh?”

Harry’s face is soft as he looks back at him. “Maybe,” he says. 

They get up, and Paul tells Louis to go first, and then Harry, and he’ll follow behind. Louis keeps his head down, like he saw Harry do earlier, and he makes his way out of the pub. The car is waiting for them, and when the driver sees Louis, he opens the door. 

Louis can feel eyes on him as he moves. Once they’re out of the building, he turns his head to talk over his shoulder. “Can feel you staring at me bum, Harold. It’s not polite.”

Harry scoffs, but doesn’t deny it. “It’s in front of me, it’s not  _ not  _ polite.” 

Louis slides into the car and settles into the seat. He tilts his head back and closes his eyes. Harry slides in after him and then presses himself so tightly against Louis that Louis feels the door press hard against his left side. 

“No where else for me to go, Harold, you can stop pushing.”

Paul enters the car last and the door is closed behind him. Just before they start moving, he says, “Your Highness, perhaps we should give Mr. Tomlinson some space, hm?”

Louis feels one of Harry’s arms drape over his chest, a hand holds onto his left shoulder, and Louis automatically raises a hand of his own to pat against Harry’s forearm. He doesn’t open his eyes though, he’s too tired. 

It feels like Harry’s twisted in the seat so he’s pressed his chest against Louis’ arm. “Mr. Tomlinson,” he whispers into Louis’ ear. Louis shivers. 

“Your Highness,” Paul says again, a little more stress in his voice. Louis feels Harry sigh against his cheek, then there’s a small nuzzle and then all the warmth of Harry’s body is gone. Louis shivers again from the lack of heat. 

Louis only opens his eyes when the car stops moving, and it’s to find Harry curled up, seemingly asleep beside him. Louis smiles at his form, and reaches out a hand to card through Harry’s long curls, but he stops himself when he hears Paul shuffle and move to open the door. Louis shakes his head at himself. 

He follows Paul out of the car and stretches up towards the sky. 

“Thanks, Paul,” he says. 

“Goodnight, Mr. Tomlinson,” Paul answers. 

“Goodnight,” he says, and makes his way inside. 

God, it’s been ages since he’s been this drunk. An hour ago he would have called it buzzed, but at this point he can practically feel the alcohol sloshing around inside his brain. He giggles at the thought of that. Of his brain as a little ship, sailing in an ocean of beer. Mmm beer ocean. 

He makes it to his room and it takes too long to find the key in his wallet, and then longer to get it in the slot to unlock it. Goddamn Harry and his sudden breaking and entering. Louis wouldn’t’ve had to lock his door if it weren’t for him, probably. 

Goddamn Harry and his dumb dimples and his stupid laugh and the infuriating way his hair does the little curly swirl thing behind his ear. And his ridiculously good outfits and his horrific green eyes and his absolutely devilish mouth. Says so many dirty things. Looks so dirty. Probably feels dirty, as well. 

He pauses, frowning at himself. No, he thinks. No, no thinking of him that way. He said he wouldn’t, so he won’t. 

He gets his suit jacket off as well as his tie, and then remembers his shoes so he toes those off, too. He’s starting to pull his button down out of his trousers when he hears a loud knock at his door. 

“Shh,” he whispers, and then walks over and opens it. 

Harry is standing in front of him in boxers and nothing else. 

“Harry!” Louis exclaims. He looks left and then right, and then pulls him into the room by his wrist. Harry giggles and goes easily. Louis closes the door most of the way, but not all of the way. No, not all of the way. “What’re you doing? You can’t wander around in just your pants.”

Harry stumbles a little, but steadies himself with one hand behind Louis’ head. It’s then Louis realizes Harry’s got him backed up against the wall beside the door. He turns his head to the right and can see out into the hall. Yeah, this seems okay still. 

“Didn’t say goodnight,” is what Harry says. Louis looks back to him. Up at him. Harry’s not that much taller, but he is taller, and Louis has to look up to look at his eyes. 

“Horrific green eyes,” Louis says to him. 

Harry’s palm slides down until it’s holding onto Louis’ jaw. His other hand comes up on the other side as well, and now both of Harry’s giant palms are holding Louis’ face. “Goodnight,” he says, and his devilish mouth is much too close to Louis’ mouth. Louis’ angelic mouth. 

Louis giggles at that thought. Harry smiles back at him, but he’s so close it’s kind of a blur. 

It’s then that Louis realizes he’s gonna kiss him. “Mmm,” Louis hums. 

“Can I?” Harry asks. 

“Hm?”

“Can I, please?” he asks again. A whisper. Their noses touch and Louis can feel Harry’s breath on his lips. 

Louis’ hands come up to hold on to Harry’s wrists, and then they slide up and down a bit across his forearms. “Shouldn’t,” he whispers back. The hair along Harry’s arm tickles his palms. It’s nice. 

“We want to,” Harry says. “Just one.” 

Louis can practically feel the wetness of Harry’s mouth already against his own. His heart is beating so fast. When did his heart start beating so fast?

“Just one,” Louis says. Breathes out. Can feel and hear Harry’s lips make a soft sound as they part. But he doesn’t actually move forward, so Louis says it again, “Just one.” 

But still, there’s nothing. And Louis’ heart is beating so fast and Harry’s arm hair is tickling him and he can feel his breath and his face is all blurry. 

And suddenly it’s Louis who’s tilting his head up and forward and capturing Harry’s lips with his own. 

Harry lets out a muffled cry as their mouths meet and then he’s pushing Louis further into the wall and kissing him hard. 

It’s good. Louis can hardly breathe it’s so good. 

One of his hands moves up to grasp the back of Harry’s neck so he can pull him in harder, kiss him harder, feel him harder. 

Harry moans into his skin and moves his hands, one up to thread through Louis’ hair and one down to thumb over his neck. 

Louis feels so trapped, but he’s also never felt more free. He realizes he doesn’t want this to stop. It feels too good to stop, why would they ever stop doing  _ this.  _

It’s like they were made for this. Moving together, feeling it out, breathing air like they create it just for each other. It’s like living in a universe with everything you ever wanted, even when you didn’t know you wanted it. He thinks he never wants to stop feeling this way.

But then he hears the sound of a door opening down the hall, and his heart practically stops when he realizes his door is partially open, and anyone could see if they looked in as they walked by. 

It almost hurts to do so, but Louis removes his hand from the back of Harry’s neck and uses it to push him away. Harry is panting, and has a bit of a pained expression on his face, eyes closed like he’s so sure of where he is, he doesn’t even need sight to tell him. He moves forward to try and kiss Louis again, but Louis holds firm until finally Harry opens his eyes. 

“One,” Louis pants out. “That was. One.” 

Harry hasn’t moved his hands and his eyes are trained on Louis’ mouth. “One more,” he whispers, and moves in again, but Louis shakes his head. Harry looks up and they make eye-contact, which seems to help him understand, and he finally pulls back. It feels like it takes ages for him to remove his hands, and when he does, Louis feels the ghost of them still hovering on his skin. 

A full minute passes with them just staring at each other. 

Finally, Louis says, “Goodnight.”

Harry says, “Goodnight” back. And then Louis pushes his bedroom door open a little wider, so Harry can get out. Which he does, after another long minute of staring. 

Louis closes the door after him with his right arm, and then locks it. He stays, breathing heavily against the wall until his heart rate settles back to normal. 


	7. Chapter 7

Louis wakes up with a pounding headache, but ignores it with the same determination with which he ignores the memories of last night. 

Maybe if he ignores it hard enough, it’ll be wiped from the space time continuum. 

The thing is, it doesn’t matter how good of a kiss it was. Honestly, it doesn’t. Because even if it was the best kiss in the history of the world, even if it was something people would study and discuss for centuries, it’s not like it means anything to them. 

And it wasn’t, for the record. It wasn’t the best kiss in the history of the world. Louis wasn’t even sober for it, so it couldn’t have been. 

He gets up and gets ready for his day. He’s wearing a black suit and a black tie because it’s classic and also because if Louis has to puke later it’s probably the least likely to show up. That’s how that works, right? He doesn’t think too hard about it as he sips a glass of water. 

When he makes it to Press Room F, no one else is there yet. “Oh, thank god,” Louis mutters to himself, and he slouches down onto a chair outside of it. The only reason he doesn’t close his eyes is because he gets nauseated when he tries it the first time.

Twenty minutes later, ten minutes to 9am, the Prince comes down the stairs. He looks better than Louis does, at least, but then again what else is new. 

“Your Highness,” Louis says, and then he stands slowly. 

“Why are you whispering?” he asks loudly.

“Why are you shouting?”

The Prince laughs, again much too loudly and says, “I’m not.”

“Sure feels like you are.” 

“Come here,” he says and makes a move like he might  _ hug  _ Louis or something, so Louis puts a hand up, winces and shakes his head. It’s just then that the press door opens, and the head of the palace PR team comes through, looking up at him. 

“Ah, Mr. Tomlinson,” he says, “there you are. Do you have a moment?”

Louis pulls himself up and nods. He will not let Simon Cowell know he’s hungover. He walks to the other side of the room and Louis follows. 

“Everything alright?” Louis asks. 

“Yes, yes, all good. I just wanted to confirm I got your initial proposal yesterday.”

Louis looks at him and tries to remember. He doesn’t remember submitting anything, but he can’t be pressed to remember his own middle name at the moment. 

“The fundraiser? For Home and Hope?”

Louis winces. “Oh.”

“Yes. So I ran it by the rest of the PR team, and we’re all on board. Unfortunately, I don’t think we can get it done in time before you depart, but I’m assuming you wouldn’t mind if we scheduled it for the following week?”

“Actually, I think I might have been a bit too eager with that proposal. I didn’t flush it out as I should have, I apologize.”

“Really? Well, I can’t even imagine seeing something flushed out, we thought everything was impeccable.” 

Goddamn his well-honed skills. 

“No, I hadn’t checked with the organization first, and I’m not sure if they would be willing to partner with us.”

“Ah, I’m sure you’ll convince them,” he says, waving a hand like it’ll be no trouble. 

“Really, I shouldn’t have submitted it. I would like to pull it back from consideration.” 

He pauses. “I’m not sure if I can do that. I’ve already brought it up to Her Majesty and Her Highness; they both loved the idea so much since we found the Palace already donates there. Princess Gemma also had the idea to host it in the ballroom of the Kingsbury Library, since they’ve been working with Home and Hope for years. Great publicity for them both.” 

Louis takes a breath and tries to regroup quickly. “Maybe let’s try to find a different charity.”

Simon looks a little floored. “Mr. Tomlinson, what is the issue?”

“I apologize, I would really like a full day to redo the proposal and submit a clean copy to you. I could have it done by tomorrow at 5pm. 

He still looks bewildered but says, “Yes, okay Mr. Tomlinson, if you’d prefer. I can’t guarantee they’ll go for it, but we can assess when you resubmit the proposal.” 

“Thank you.”

Simon nods and walks away. Louis breathes again and walks back over to the Prince, who’s smiling a little tentatively at him. 

“Alright?” he asks. 

Louis nods and looks at his watch. Damn, the conference is just about to begin, he doesn’t have time to have this conversation now.

“Yeah, alright. After this press conference, I’d like to speak with you, if that’s okay.”

The Prince’s whole face goes from worried to pleased. Louis tries not to wince at it. “Yes, of course. I’ll need to go to my room and grab my notes before the meeting after that. You could come with me and we can head back together?”

“Sure, yeah, that’s fine.”

“Good,” the Prince says, and his eyes flit over Louis’ face, which is more than he can take right now, so he opens the press room door and gestures for Harry to walk in. 

“Thank you,” he says, placing a hand on Louis’ bicep and then letting his fingers trail down the length of his arm as he walks past. 

Louis shivers. It’s from the draft in the press room. Press Room F has horrendous insulation, everyone knows that. 

This press conference is different from all the others. 

The Prince makes exactly one cheeky, flirtatious comment to the first reporter right at the start, and then answers every question sincerely and honestly. Even when Mrs. Lavine tries to bait him with a seductive sounding  _ “Are greenhouse emissions making things too hot to handle in our country, Prince Harry?”  _ he simply says, “Climate change is a matter my sister is very passionate about, and I am too. The general rising temperatures are most concerning, and we need to address big businesses that don’t think they have anything to change.”

It's nothing short of brilliant. 

Louis actually feels quite silly standing up there, so close to him, but when he takes half a step back from the podium, trying to discreetly fade away a bit, the Prince turns and looks at him curiously. He seems half a breath away from reaching out and grabbing Louis’ hand, right in front of all these cameras and people, so Louis settles back in where he was before and just watches the Prince answer questions. 

They thank the press when the time is up and they make their way out of the room. Louis feels anxious now, and this weird sort of tension as he tries to think of how to explain this to the Prince. He didn’t know that Home and Hope was a secret. Didn’t even know it was a thing at all, so he can’t really be blamed for submitting the proposal. He thought he was doing the right thing. 

Up the stairs they go, the Prince walking a little in front of him. Louis goes to speak, but then they pass some palace staff and Louis decides to keep quiet until they are in a room on their own, so he doesn’t risk letting anyone know. But hell, maybe the entire staff knows, and it’s only Louis’ who’s out of the loop. Wouldn’t be the first time in this place. 

He’s going to try and figure out something else, anyway. He will figure something else out. If the Prince doesn’t want anyone to know about a good thing he’s doing, Louis guesses he has to have a good reason for it. Even if he won’t let Louis know what that reason is. God, if only he would just tell Louis, maybe that would help. Make it clearer what he needs to do. 

He’ll ask him again. Louis will ask the Prince again to tell him why, explain why he needs to know, and ask why it’s so important that it stays a secret. He’s a little hungover, but he’s still got a way with words. He’ll just be persuasive. 

They make it to the Prince’s room, and he looks back at Louis, giving a little smile before he opens the door. Louis tries to smile back, but he thinks it might come off as more of a grimace. 

Louis follows after and closes the door behind him. “So, I wanted to—”

But he doesn’t get a full sentence out, because the Prince is cutting him off with a kiss. His hands go to Louis’ neck and Louis instinctively clutches at Harry’s shoulder and bicep, moaning at the surprise of it and eyes closing automatically. 

It’s only a few seconds before Louis’ mouth feels all tingly from the pressure of it. He thinks he tastes something fruity, like Harry put on strawberry-flavoured lip balm. He parts his lips to find out. 

Harry takes it as an opportunity to lick into his mouth and pull him in by his lapels. “Fuck, you’re so hot in your suits.”

He’s one to talk. 

Harry slips his hands under Louis suit jacket and pulls him in by the waist. Louis moans again as he’s pulled flush against the other man. 

“Love when you moan for me,” Harry says, and then turns their kiss into a full-on snog as he pushes Louis up against the door again

Louis just lets it happen for a few seconds. Or, well, he doesn’t so much let it happen as become too dazed to think clearly enough to put a stop to it right away. But when he comes-to, he turns his head to the side and breathes in deeply. “Harry,” he says. Or, well, he tries to say, but it also comes out as a moan. 

Harry answers with a moan of his own. “Yeah, Lou. Love it. God, I love it when you say my name.” 

He slots one of his legs between Louis’ own and starts pressing his thigh up in slow circles, probably feeling where Louis is getting hard embarrassingly quickly.

“Harry,” Louis says desperately as Harry kisses up his jaw and over his cheekbones. And then he’s making eye-contact, looking devilish and hungry. Looks like he’s about to do something devastating, like drop to his knees for Louis. 

Louis speaks before Harry can think about overpowering him and doing that. “I submitted the fundraiser proposal to the PR team.” Harry looks like he doesn’t know what that means, and like he doesn’t really care, so Louis elaborates with, “They’re going to partner with Home and Hope.”

Finally, it seems to click, because Harry pulls back, still gripping Louis’ waist with his enormous hands and says, “What?”

“I sent the draft of the proposal before I left yesterday, before I saw you there,” he says, “and I didn’t realize they would read and approve it so quickly, but they’ve taken it to your mum and sister, and they’re both on board.”

“No,” Harry says. Almost seems like he’s going to laugh at it. 

“It’s not— I’m going to try and come up with a different charity, but it sounds like they love the idea of supporting Home and Hope. But it’s, it’s not the worst thing. You could also just pretend you don’t know.”

Harry finally pulls himself away from Louis and removes his hands. He looks angry. 

“No.”

Louis huffs out. He keeps leaning against the door for leverage as he finds his breath again. “I’m going to try, but we should strategize for you if end up needing—”

“No.”

“Stop just bloody saying no, Harry, we’ve got to plan! Simon said something about two weeks from now, so I won’t be here to—”

Harry turns around and grabs two fistfuls of his own hair. 

“I just— I just answered all of those questions. I just did it, I did it because I knew you’d like it, but now this? It’ll be too much.”

“Because  _ I’d  _ like it?” Louis asks, incredulous. 

Harry turns back around and drops his hands. “Yes,” he says, like it’s obvious. Like there’s a  _ duh  _ that comes after it. 

Louis shakes his head. “I don’t get you. I don’t get any of this. You should be wanting to answer questions because  _ you  _ want to. Because it’s honest, because it’s what you really think, because it helps the people trust you as an advisor to the new Queen of England. I don’t understand why you keep doing this, acting like two completely different people all the time, like you’ve only got one switch with two modes.”

It’s quiet for a moment. 

“Is that what you think of me?”

“What else am I supposed to think of you?” Louis asks. He shakes his head. “Damnit, Harry, I don’t know what you want from me! Do you want me to let you push me against the wall and snog my head off? Do you want me to make you a better person? Do you want me to do my job and leave?”

“Yeah,” he says. 

“Yeah what?” Louis asks, throwing his arms out to the side. 

“Yeah, I want you to leave,” he says, crossing his arms. “Now.” 

“Fine,” Louis says. He opens the door and says, “We’ve got a meeting at 10:30 in with the main PR team.”

“I know,” he says, cold as anything. 

“Yeah well, it’s my job to tell you.”

“I  _ know,” _ he says again. 

“That’s great,  _ Your Highness.  _ You know what else you should know? Whatever the fuck the point of it is. Because whatever it is you’re doing isn’t working like you want it to.” Louis doesn’t look at him, shaking his head and biting the inside of his cheek. “Your chaotic behaviour isn’t helping, even if you think it is. Sooner or later you’re going to have to tell someone the real reason why you’re acting so incredibly stupid.” 

“I—”

“Shut up,” Louis says. He turns back to look at him. Harry is seething. “You’re not fucking stupid, Harry. And maybe you’ve got some people fooled, but then they’re stupid also. Stop acting like you’ve got it under control, because you don’t, and figure out what the fuck you actually want.”

He slams the door shut behind him and stomps off to his room. 

Louis is fuming hard as he paces in his room for several minutes. He feels the anger course through his body. It hasn’t been this strong since he first started this job. Buggering bloody fuck he never should have taken this job. 

He doesn’t calm down as much as he’d like before 10:30am rolls around, but he finds his hangover is almost entirely replaced by this feeling so… that’s something at least. 

The meeting with the PR team is disastrous. 

For someone who was acting nice as pie just an hour ago, the Prince sure does have no trouble turning another 180 degrees. A full 360 from just a few days ago, then. Right back at the start, but somehow even more aggressive. 

Louis has a hard time pulling focus when the Prince is yanking him in twelve different directions, haphazardly flirting with the entire room, pointedly ignoring anything and everything Louis has to say, and not staying close to on topic as they try to discuss improvements in numbers they’ve made over the last few weeks. 

Everyone leaves exhausted. The whole team is looking at themselves a little bewildered and Louis feels the same, even though he’s more clued into why the Prince is acting this way. He does hear some murmurs of perhaps not letting the Prince in front of any more cameras while he’s this way. Louis can’t find a reason to object. 

He spends the entire day on edge, watching the Prince just hack away at any good progress he’s made over the last four weeks. He undermines Louis as he tries to talk and makes it near-impossible to reorient the conversation. 

Quite simply, the Prince is being a fucking dick. 

And it’s easy for Louis to see the Prince knows it by the way he smiles, saccharine-sweet at him before they leave each press conference and meeting. The same press that were in the earliest meeting of the day seem thoroughly perplexed. 

God only knows what they’ll print. The videos (clearly taken only hours apart) of Prince Harry being thoughtful and earnest juxtaposed with those of him not actually answering questions and making openly crude comments and gestures. Most of which they won’t be able to show on daytime television, so at least there’s that. 

At one point a reporter looks directly at Louis as she asks a question, clearly wanting even partial-semblance of an answer, and the Prince leans in front of Louis in order to say he knows they’re not actually there for political questions, so why don’t they each line up to put their numbers in his mobile so they can chat about “the big things that truly matter” and then he throws a wink, in case anyone missed the obvious implication of his statement. 

Louis just shakes his head through it all and can’t even really bother to hide his frustration and disappointment as well as he normally would. 

They end early because no one has anything left to say.

Outside of the press rooms, the Prince doesn’t look at him. Doesn’t acknowledge him at all. Louis isn’t surprised; at this point he’s a bit numb to anything but the anger. 

At the end of the day, Louis says (to the empty room, because the Prince clearly is pretending not to pay attention to him), “It’s my day off tomorrow, don’t bother me.”

The Prince scoffs, but it could as easily be to the unruly nail beds he’s examining on his hand. Louis internally rages, but he doesn’t let it show. He won’t let it show. He doesn’t want that bastard to know how far he’s gotten under Louis skin. 

Louis supposes that’s been each of their objectives since he started, hasn’t it?

Sleep takes ages to come that night and he wakes up more tired than he’s been in years, which is saying something for the amount of late nights he pulled at the firm. The anger has mostly ebbed away, and he decides to go to the fitness center to work the last of it off. 

Louis walks in, only to discover the Prince is there, too. He’s running on a treadmill along the wall in front of him at the entrance with his earbuds in and sweat pouring down the back of his neck. 

He contemplates turning around and leaving, coming back another time, but fuck him if he thinks he can make Louis run around and avoid him like a kid who’s done something wrong.  _ Harry’s  _ done something wrong. He can be the one to run away. 

Besides, with the way sweat is dripping down the sides of his neck and arms, hopefully it means he’s nearly done, anyway, and he can leave Louis alone in peace. 

There’s another set of treadmills in the back corner of the facility across from the mirrored wall, so Louis heads there. He pops in his earbuds and sets a slow pace for his warm-up before he starts his run.

When he’s halfway through his 5 miles, he notices a blur of motion to his left. He looks over as subtly as he can and notices the Prince has moved to the stairmaster a few machines over. He doesn’t look at Louis, and Louis sighs in relief. Definitely relief. He increases the speed on his machine and finishes his run the quickest he ever has. 

He wipes down his forehead and neck with a flannel to absorb the sweat there. He goes to the free weights and works on those for a while before eyeing the punching bag in the corner of the room. He walks over to it tentatively, before shaking his head and turning to walk away, but when he moves, he finds Harry is right behind him, breathing raggedly from his workout. 

He nods to the bag behind Louis. “Want a spot?”

“What?” Louis asks, both to clarify and to give himself an extra moment to stop noticing the way Harry’s light blue t-shirt sticks to his abs. 

Harry nods again and says, “Do you want me to spot you?”

Louis looks behind him at the bag and then back at the Prince, pursing his lips. It’s been ages since he’s had the chance to box, and he can’t come up with a good enough reason to say no. 

“Yeah, alright,” he says. He can just pretend he’s punching Harry, and his face will be right there for inspiration. 

Louis pulls on the gloves that are hanging up on the wall, and Harry positions himself, planting his feet, holding onto the leather and bracing himself. Louis pulls his attention away and focuses on the bag. 

He starts out with some light jabs to get used to the feeling. Then he switches it up with some moves he remembers from his old gym. He can feel it in his arms and his core, the way his body remembers the moves and what to do. It’s nice.

After a few minutes of getting lost in the feeling, he remembers there’s someone else here with him. He looks over at Harry, whose eyes are sweeping over his body (hovering at his arms) and biting his plush bottom lip. 

Louis’ next punch slips and he ends up hitting the Prince (who’d fucking stupidly moved his arm around the bag too much, exposting his forearms and hands). Luckily, with the positioning, the hit kind of glides against the back of his arm, and only causes Harry to jump back a little in surprise. 

“Fuck, are you alright?” Louis asks. 

Harry just nods. He stretches out his arm and flexes his fingers, but everything seems to be fine.

Louis chuckles nervously. “Right. Sorry. Guess it’s been too long, I don’t know how to throw a punch anymore,” he jokes. 

It takes an extra beat, but Harry chuckles back. 

Louis looks down and sticks one of the gloves under his arm and starts to pull it off, when he hears the Prince clear his throat and say, “You can keep going. If you want.” 

Louis pauses and looks up slightly, but not at Harry, feeling his ears get a little warm. But then he finishes pulling the first glove off and works on the other one. “No, no, that was enough for me. Do you, erm, want to give it a go?”

He looks up and Harry’s eyes are locked on his face. He nods softly and holds out his giant hands for the gloves. Harry puts them on and taps them against each other while Louis gets into position. 

Louis can’t help but watch him as he strikes. Harry is relentless in his punches, causing the bag to move heavily with each hit. The muscles in his arms ripple as the glove makes contact, and Louis can see his abs contracting under the motions as he swings. 

God, he looks hot. It’s not even something Louis can try to deny, not like this, with his muscles all on display, moving with an agility Louis’ never seen from him. Everything is smooth and has so much grace, and the way he drops his mouth open to grunt as he makes contact with the bag makes Louis’ knees feel a little weak. 

He can feel it now. Each hit of the bag. Louis feels the reverberations throughout his entire body each time, and his mind slips away from him, wondering if this is what it would be like if Harry fucked him. 

Yeah, Louis decides, he’d be just as relentless about that too. He’d pound into Louis and try to hit his prostate every time. But it wouldn’t even be trying, probably. Louis thinks Harry would instinctively find that spot inside of him and hit it every fucking time with his massive cock. Louis can see the outline of it now through his shorts. He’d just keep thrusting, making Louis take all the pleasure as he drove into him. 

The motion of the bag finally stops and Louis blinks up into Harry’s eyes, who’s staring at him, his whole chest heaving. They just look at each other for a few moments, mouths open, waiting for the other to speak. 

Louis does first. “Well, obviously you’re better at that than I am.” 

Harry continues to stare. “Wager I’ve had more practice.”

Ha. Louis smiles wryly and nods, dropping his arms from the bag. “Yeah, I’d say so.”

Harry looks confused for a moment, but Louis doesn’t see it for long, since he’s moving around him. “I’ll have to give it another go at some stage, work my way up,” Louis calls out over his shoulder. 

He goes to the water fountain again and takes a long drink. Maybe too long. He doesn’t care, just lets the water soak up into him. When he’s done drinking, he tilts his face fully in it so the stream can cool him down a bit. 

When Louis looks back, he sees Harry on the mats, working on his billion crunches or whatever. Louis imagines kneeling in front of him, holding his feet down to help him. Then his thoughts move to pulling down his shorts to expose his cock and putting his mouth on him, sucking him off while his muscles contract under his head. 

Fuck that’d be hot. 

Louis shakes himself out of it and makes his way over to some of the weight machines. The gym is supposed to be about health, not sex. His mind can fuck right off. And yeah, he’s attracted to him, but he’s the Prince. And Louis has been hired to work for him. And Louis is fucking pissed off at him right now, anyway. 

So. It all ends with the same conclusion.  _ No.  _

Louis realizes he’s been staring at the machine for a few minutes just as he feels the heat of another body behind him. Louis closes his eyes and tries to breathe evenly. 

“Mind if I work in?” Harry asks lowly, mouth so close to his ear Louis can feel the words as puffs of breath. 

Louis’ mouth drops open a little and his eyes close. He thinks back to their heated snog yesterday. And the day before. He thinks back to that night at the club, as well. About Harry’s mouth all over his neck. Harry’s obviously thinking about it too, because Louis can hear him lick his lips, can feel his hands hovering a bit around his lower half. 

He can’t help the way his hand scratches up his own thigh and licks his own lips. Louis holds back the whimper that’s about to fall out of his mouth, but just barely. 

Fuck, he’s got to pull himself together. 

He opens his eyes and is just about to quip that there are half a dozen other machines the Prince can use, so he should try one of those, but he opens them and sees his own reflection. And Harry looking at him through it. 

Fuck. 

He’d forgotten there were mirrors along this wall. 

Harry looks torn between surprised and in awe, like he’s been enlightened by Louis’ reflection. His hands are just centimeters from grabbing onto him. Probably wanting to palm all over Louis’ body. Take Louis right out of his trackies here and now to pull him off. Get one of those giant hands around his cock, make a mess in this public space. Get him to moan and call out for him. Panting  _ Harry, Harry, Harry _ as he comes. 

Fuck. 

Louis takes a step forward and looks away from the mirror. He keeps his voice even and doesn’t dare look back at the Prince as he says, “Yeah, no problem,” and makes his way out of the room. 

He feels his cheeks flame as he makes his way to his room, but he blames the flush on the workout and nothing more. 

He spends longer than normal in the shower trying to scrub away his feelings, which works, but not as much as he’d like. 

He pulls out his suitcase and starts to put some things away. There’s less than a week left now, and he’s got to get himself in order. There’s no time like the present. 

After he’s been on his own for a couple of hours in his room, he makes his way down to the kitchen for something to eat. He doesn’t look when he walks into the room, so he doesn’t see Eleanor at the workbench, but he doesn’t feel the dread he has in the past when he sees her. 

She smiles a little when she notices him. “Hi Louis,” she says. She’s got rows and rows of little puffs lined up in front of her and a piping bag in her hands. 

“Hi,” he says back. 

“Do you want some tea?” she asks, after a beat. 

“Sure.” He makes his way over and sits down beside her. “What’re you making?”

“Profiteroles,” she says. “I think I’m going to try and make a Croquembouche later.” 

“What did you call me?” Louis jokes. And it’s not very good, but Eleanor laughs and it breaks whatever small weird awkwardness was there. 

She puts down the piping back and turns around to the kettle. She grabs his favourite yellow mug and a tea bag, and stars speaking with her back still turned. 

“You know, I don’t usually watch the press conferences,” she says. “Harry asked me not to a while ago. Asked most of us not to. Said it wasn’t worth hearing whatever gibberish came out of him. His words, not mine.” 

Louis nods, even though she’s not looking at him. She pulls the milk out of the refrigerator. 

“I watched yesterday, though, because I was curious. And it was… well, you were there, and I sure did see your face on screen. They panned onto you a lot to see your reaction.” Louis winces. “Don’t get me wrong, you looked very… professional, I guess. But it was almost clinical, the way you looked out at everyone. I couldn’t tell what you were thinking. I guess that’s good for your job, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Louis says. 

She turns back with his mug of tea and places it softly in front of him. “I need you to know that whoever it was on screen was not the Harry I know.” 

Louis nods and says softly, “Yeah, I know.” 

“I don’t know why he would have said all of those things.”

“Me either, El. Me either.” 

She nods and picks up the piping bag again with one hand and then a puff with the other. “You like him, yeah?”

Louis takes a sip of his tea. “I’d like him better if he didn’t go around making my job a nightmare.”

“No, but…”

“Yeah, I know what you’re asking.”

“Because he likes you,” she says, filling another puff. She fills three more before she continues. “I’ve heard some of the kitchen staff talk a little. About the way he looks at you. I’m never really around to see it, so I didn’t know, but I did see it that day last week, when you were both here. And that… that was the person I know. So it makes sense.”

She fills two more puffs. The pause for it feels heavy. “And thinking back, I recognized the look on your face. It was the same one I saw yesterday. Like you were holding something back.”

Louis takes another sip of his tea. 

“It’s the same one you’ve got on right now.” 

He stops mid-sip and looks over at her. She’s smiling a little, but there’s a lot of layers behind it, like she’s preparing for any number of reactions from him. 

So he says, “I don’t know what you want me to say to that.” 

She shrugs. “I don’t want you to say anything you don’t mean. So it’s okay if you don’t say anything.” He nods and continues to drink his tea. 

“So you know, yeah?” She says once all the puffs are filled. “About Home and Hope?”

Louis pauses and then nods. 

“I’m not sure if he told you, but only a few people here know. I only know because Harry needed a way to communicate with them when he would be coming by. So he sends treats and tells me to write a little note with the time he’ll be there. I think it’s my fault he got found out. I know he’s not thrilled about it.”

“It’s not your fault,” Louis says, sincerely. “I’d walked by sometime last week and had an idea running through my head. Being there definitely pushed me further along, and the timing of it was maybe more rushed, but I probably would have found out this week.”

“Maybe,” she concedes. She hands him a profiterole and he takes it gingerly in his hand. “I don’t really have anything wise to say, I’m sorry.” Eleanor laughs and takes one for herself. “That’s usually Cedric’s role here.”

Louis smiles. “He’s much too wise for me, I think.”

“Me too.” 

They eat their cream puffs in companionable silence. 

“You should probably talk to him?” Eleanor offers, like a question. “Get whatever you need out of your system so you can feel okay.”

Louis nods. “Maybe.”

They talk a bit more about Eleanor’s family bakery and Louis eats another three profiteroles. It’s not the healthiest breakfast he’s had, but he worked out hard this morning, so he thinks he’s earned it. 

He spends the rest of the day doing some prep work for leaving, like writing up his final reports to hand off to the new PR associate coming in from New York and rewriting his proposal for the fundraiser. There are a few other charities and organizations that would work. None fit as perfectly into his original vision as Home and Hope, but there are one or two that work nearly as well. He writes a proposal for both and then reviews to see which reads better. He sends his final draft off just before 4pm and closes his email after that.

Midafternoon, Chef Arguinano makes him something for lunch, and he takes the miniature croquembouche that Eleanor left for him to his room to snack on while he watches telly.

He binges more of Love Island for a couple of hours and then scrolls mindlessly on the internet. The thought that he should go and find Harry so they can talk pops into his head more than once, but he ignores it. He’s ignored it this long into the process, so it’s not hard to keep it up now. 

At just past 8pm, Louis hears a knock at his door. He gets up to answer it and finds Prince Harry there, looking at him and waiting for whatever Louis’ reaction will be. Louis looks back for a few seconds before holding the door open, inviting him in. 

He shuts the door and crosses his arms across his chest. 

“Hi,” Harry says. 

“Hi,” Louis says. 

A pause. 

“How’s your day going?”

Louis kind of wants to laugh at that, but he doesn’t. “Well, and yours?”

Harry nods. “Yeah. Good I think. I’ve done a lot of thinking.”

Louis nods, too. “Good.” He shrugs and looks down at his feet. “Thinking is good. Usually.”

He’s more dressed down today. He’s got on some black skinny jeans and a loud, orange floral shirt, unbuttoned to his sternum so Louis can see the hint of his butterfly tattoo there. It’s annoying how hot he looks in something like that. 

“It was good,” Harry says. 

And Christ, they’re talking in fucking circles. 

“What do you need, Harry?”

Harry takes a deep breath in and brings his hands to clasp together behind his back. “It’s less about what I need, I think,” he says, “and more about what I want.”

Louis shakes his head and then nods. “Okay, what do you want?”

“I’ve been thinking. Like I said. A lot about what you said to me yesterday. About deciding what I want. And I know what I want. I’m ready for what I want.”

Louis is kind of at a loss. “Good, I’m glad,” he says, because he doesn’t know what else there is he could say. He shrugs and tries to be patient, but Harry’s shirt flutters open a little more as he rocks back and forth on his feet once. Louis can see more of his chest this way. 

“I know what I actually want.”

Louis nods. “Okay.” 

Harry’s eyes are piercing. They’re not all over his body, like they usually are, but making intense, almost unblinking eye contact. “And I wanted to come over here and tell you.”

“Great,” Louis says. He watches Harry lick his lips and Louis bites the inside of his cheek to ground himself. 

“So I know what I want,” Harry says. And Christ, Louis wishes he’d just say whatever it is he came to say. “And I wanted to know… if you know what you want, too.”

Everything in Louis finally cracks. 

It’s been a long time coming, he thinks, as he drops his arms and shoves Harry against his bedroom wall and snogs the hell out of his face. 

He brings his arms around Harry’s neck, and feels hands grab onto his hips, strong and forceful. But Harry lost the right to take control of anything when he put on that disastrous shirt to come and talk to Louis like this. 

“Lou,” Harry moans into his mouth as a hand trails up from his hip to the center of his back, pulling him in closer so there’s no room between them.

“Shut up,” Louis says, and kisses him again. 

Harry’s hands feel like heaven and hell all along his body. They burn and sooth all at once and Louis finds he can’t get enough. He can’t believe he denied them both this when clearly this was the solution all along. 

“Yeah, this is good,” Louis mumbles against Harry’s mouth. “This is good for us.”

Harry moans again and pulls Louis’ waist further into him so they’re touching from their chests to their knees, feet also knocking together as they try to find a good position to stand in. 

“We can fuck each other out of our systems,” Louis continues. “Get it out and move on.”

Harry continues kissing him for a few more seconds, but then abruptly pulls back. 

“What?” he asks, a little bewildered. His hands slide down a bit until they’re barely holding onto Louis anymore. Must be dazed from snogging. Louis’ not one to brag, but he’s extremely good at this, he knows, so he forgives Harry for acting this way. 

“Put your hands on me,” Louis says, grabbing at one of Harry’s wrists to show him where. He fits one of those massive hands around the cleft of his bum and tilts his head up, searching for Harry’s mouth again. “Fuck me like you mean it,” he whispers, “like you’ve been wanting too.”

There’s a brief pause and then Harry is back on him, pawing at him more aggressively than he ever has. 

Harry walks Louis backwards until the back of his thighs hit the bed, and Louis takes it upon himself to shuffle back, holding onto the material of Harry’s shirt to pull him along. It feels familiar in a way that Louis’ really fucking missed. 

When they’re in the middle of the mattress, Louis arches into him, and Harry wrestles him down, pins each of Louis’ arms beside his head before kissing him again.

But then he breaks away, breathing heavily and lets his head fall forward, chin nearly touching his own chest. “I can’t,” Harry says, “I can’t do it like this.”

“Okay,” Louis says. “I can be on top.” He laughs and skillfully flips them over so he’s straddling Harry’s pelvis. “Just like you to make me do all the work,  _ Your Highness _ .”

Louis grinds down to prove his point and moans into Harry’s mouth. He continues for another half a minute like that, Harry pliant beneath him. 

...too pliant. His hands are just lightly resting on top of Louis calves and he’s barely even kissing back now.

Pulling away, he just stares down at Harry for a moment. He’s looking up, but his eyes are a little glassy and he won’t meet Louis’ gaze.

“What’s wrong?” Louis asks. 

“Nothing,” Harry says. “You can keep going.”

“I can— what? Harry, you won’t even look at me.”

Harry does make eye-contact with him then, eyes brimmed with tears. “I want you to keep going,” he says, voice even. 

“Harry, why are you crying?” Louis asks. He sits up so he’s kneeling over Harry, removing the pressure from both of their groins. Louis’ hardly even touching him now but it feels like every hair on his body is standing up straight with all the tension. 

“I’m not,” Harry says, just as one tear slips down his cheek. He quickly wipes it away and closes his eyes, bringing his hands to grab on to Louis’ hips. “Go on, you can.”

Louis rests his hands on top of Harry’s, but doesn’t move more than that.

“What changed?” he asks. “I thought you were into this? I thought this is what you wanted the whole time.”

Harry lets out a small, whimpering sort of noise and when he opens his eyes, Louis can see more tears. “I do. I want you. I just —fuck— I don’t think I can do it like this.” 

Louis furrows his eyebrows. “Okay. Obviously I don’t want to do anything you don’t want to do, but what do you mean  _ like this?  _ Like, in my room? Or because I’m leaving at the end of the week? Would’ve thought that was ideal for you, to be honest.”

Harry takes a deep breath and just stares up at Louis for a moment. Then he ruins Louis’ life with his next words. 

“I’m in love with you,” he whispers. 

Louis is...well, shocked doesn’t really cover it. And after a beat he realizes this must be a joke of some sort, one that he just doesn’t get, like he doesn’t get most of his other jokes. 

Louis laughs and says, “No, you’re not.” 

Harry continues, like Louis didn’t say anything. “I’ve been in love with you for the past five years.”

Louis laughs again, louder this time, now trying to pull Harry’s hands away from his hips as Harry tries to hold on tighter. “That’s not possible,” Louis says, “I haven’t even been here for five weeks.”

"I tried to not be, I tried so hard to stop loving you, but I just couldn't. I can't."

“Harry,” Louis warns. “We agreed we weren’t going to do this.”

“No,” Harry says emphatically. “You told me you wouldn’t talk about it and ignored me whenever I tried to. I did not agree.” 

Louis ignores him, swinging his leg around so he’s no longer straddling the Prince. He shuffles off the bed and stands off to the side of it, turning back to look at him to see the Prince has shifted so he’s leaning back on his elbows. 

"You can't be in love with me,” Louis says slowly, “we don't even know each other."

The Prince sits up fully so he’s on his knees in the center of the bed now. "I know that day meant a lot to you, too, Louis, and I'm sorry I ruined it.” He shuffles forward so he’s kneeling on the edge of the mattress, eye-level with Louis. “But don't try and tell me what I feel. Because I do. I love you. I've loved you for a long time and every day you pretend it didn’t happen fucking kills me."

And that really gets Louis’ blood boiling. If he wants to ruin this and talk about it, so be it.

“It kills  _ you?” _ Louis asks. “Fuck you,  _ Your Highness _ .”

“Louis no, don’t walk away any more!” The Prince shuffles some more so he’s standing beside the bed now. “I said I ruined it, I know I did, but having to look at you and listen to you and talk to you when I can’t say how I feel has been  _ torture. _ You have to know that!”

“You’re Prince Harry Styles of England, Your Highness, and if the biggest hurdle you come across in your life is having to be in my presence for a little over a month and that’s  _ torture _ , you don’t know how lucky you have it.” Louis walks over to the wall where his shoes are. He doesn’t know where he plans on going, but he knows he has to get out of here. 

“Fuck off, Lou, don’t turn this into one of your trailblazing speeches. I know being heartbroken isn’t the end of the world, but it doesn’t make it any less painful.”

“Heartbroken?” Louis’ got one shoe on when he turns around again, feeling murderous.  _ “Heartbroken. _ Your Highness, you don’t know what heartbroken even means.”

“I do, because I’m looking at the cause of it.”

“And I’m looking at the cause of mine! So what? You feel it and then you live with it and that’s just how it goes. So I’m sorry if you thought you’d never feel bad in your life, but this is the world!”

“You...you’re heartbroken?”

“Fuck y—”

“Heartbroken, present? You’re still heartbroken? Like I am?”

“Of course I am, Harry!” Louis shouts. And then he breathes, really looking at the face of the man in front of him. The same face, but so different from five years ago. More angular. More mature. A little more worn down. Louis sighs and in a lowered voice repeats, “Of course I am.”

Louis hasn’t really let himself think about it, since he’s been here. It’s the only way he’s survived. And now he feels himself crumbling. 

He turns back around and pulls on his other shoe. 

“Where are you going?” Harry asks. 

“Out,” is all Louis says.

“Lou, you gotta stop running away from this! You can’t run away from me anymore. It hurts too much. You just said it hurts you too. Let’s talk.” 

“I can’t talk to you right now,” Louis says. 

Harry moves in a flash, standing in front of the bedroom door with his arms spread out across it, using himself as a barricade. 

“Move,” Louis says, not looking at his face. 

“Please just talk to me.”

“Move.”

“Tell me how I can fix this.” 

“Move.”

“I’ll do anything, anything you want, Darling, tell me how I can fix it.” 

Louis looks up to his eyes and sets his jaw tight. “You’re pissing me off even more, you know that, right?”

“As long as you’re here, I’m okay with that.” 

Louis turns and starts pacing. “This is so fucking  _ like you.  _ I ask for something and it’s like you don’t hear me! I asked you to move and you ignore me, literally stand in my way. I tell you I’m leaving and you ignore me and you try to  _ buy me  _ into staying. I tell you I never want to see you again after you ripped my heart out of my chest and you ignore that too.” 

Louis feels his entire body heat up and tears prickle at his eyes. He continues pacing. He doesn’t want Harry to know he can still make him cry like this. 

“And you find a way to get me here, just to ignore me some more, rub my face in my broken heart some more, make me want to throw something at you all the time just to make you feel anything like I felt that day.” 

He lets out a small yell, and it breaks in the middle, announcing to the universe that Louis Tomlinson is still as heartbroken today as he was five years ago. He stops pacing, back turned to Harry. 

It shouldn’t come as a surprise to feel Harry’s presence behind him again. He’s felt it so much, especially this last week. But it does; it shocks his system to feel the press of his body and the weight of his arms around him, pulling him into Harry’s chest. Louis feels his whole body tense up as Harry sobs quietly into his hair. 

Louis feels one teardrop hit his neck and something inside of him snaps. He will not be cried on while he relives this heartbreak. He can’t and he won’t. He shoves himself out of Harry’s hold, turns on his heels, and rips open the door before taking off in a run down the hall. 

He hears his name being called out after him, but he doesn’t stop running. Not when he’s through the door. Not when he’s over the lawn. Not when he’s a block away, not knowing where he’s headed, without his wallet or his mobile or anything. He just keeps running. 


	8. Chapter 8

_ 5 years ago _

“I’ll have a black coffee, please, one raw sugar, thanks,” he hears a deep voice say in front of him. 

Louis’ waiting in line to order his tea. It’s a busy Friday morning at the beginning of May and the place is packed, but Louis needed to get out of the office. Needed to think for a minute. Needed to find a way to write this goddamn press release without making him, Fireproof PR, or their client sound like a complete knob. 

(He was, for the record. Their client, John Darling, was a  _ complete _ knob.)

Louis’ the youngest person at the firm, is the thing; only just 23 and it’s his first job out of Uni. First real one, anyway. First one that matters in his field. 

With his laptop under one arm, Louis hums to himself as he waits for the tall man in front of him to finish his order. He’s been chatting politely to the barista for about a minute now. When he turns around, he smiles apologetically at Louis and... 

Wow. 

Hello dimples. 

He’s also got short curly hair that’s tuffed up quite cutely and bright green eyes, but Louis’ always been a sucker for dimples. The boy tugs off his tartan scarf with his coffee in hand as he moves past Louis, presumably to a table. 

Louis has to physically give his head a shake to bring him back to the present. What is this? Who even is he, some love-struck teenager in an 80s rom-com?

He orders his tea and goes to find somewhere to sit. 

Only trouble is, there isn’t anywhere to sit. All the tables are taken. 

There is, however, one person taking up a table with three chairs. Dimples has got a book out on the tabletop, and is taking off his jacket, putting it on the seat next to him. Maybe he’s saving it for someone. 

Butterflies erupt in Louis’ stomach as he approaches. 

“Excuse me,” he says. Green eyes, bright and a little surprised, look up at him. And then there’s that smile, those dimples. Louis ignores the giddiness he feels at it. “Sorry, would you mind if I sat here until a table opens up?” 

The boy falters a little.

“Or are you waiting for someone? I can do a loop and see if anyone is finishing up.”

“No,” the boy says. “I’m not waiting for anyone. You can sit, if you’d like.” 

His voice is everything that makes up Louis’ personal fantasies. Deep and a little rough. The kind there he could say anything and it’d sound beautiful coming from that slow rolling baritone. 

“Cheers,” Louis says, pulling out a chair and setting down his computer and his mobile beside it.

He tries to sneak a glance at his table companion when he opens his laptop, but finds he can’t get away with it because the boy is already looking at him. On the other hand…  _ he’s already looking at him.  _

“Day off?” Louis asks, nodding down to the book.

Dimples looks down at the book and chuckles a little. “Sort of.”

“You a student then?”

A pause. “Sort of.” 

Louis laughs. “If I ask you another question, will your answer be ‘sort of’?”

“Kind of.” 

Louis laughs big and loud, and then realizes where he is and all but slaps a hand across his mouth. Dimples is grinning wildly at him. 

“Cheeky,” Louis says, shaking his head. 

“Not a day off?” the boy across from him asks, nodding to the laptop.

“Nah, I’m in the middle of a project and needed a change of scenery.” 

“What kind of project?” Dimples asks. 

“Just this work thing. I’m a junior PR assistant, and we’ve got this kind of important client, so I have to do some research.” 

“What research?” 

Louis shrugs. “A new toothpaste for his company and he wants to make a big push for it in the American market, so I’m trying to look up how those sorts of things go. I haven’t worked with anyone in America yet.” 

Dimples nods, like it’s a fascinating topic and not something as boring as dental products. “Any luck?”

“No, not yet,” Louis says. He nods around them. “That's why I’m here. Thought a change of pace would help spark something.” 

“Is it sparking anything?”

Louis can’t help his smile. “You sure do ask a lot of questions. And non-helpful ones at that.”

The boy blushes a little, but his dimples don’t go away. “Sorry.”

“No, don’t be. It’s nice.” And then, because that sounds too much like laying everything out on the table (and Louis is a firm believer in keeping his cards close to his chest) he says, “Been awhile since someone asked me pointless questions in a cafe.”

“Glad I could make it happen for you,” Dimples says. Then he picks up his book and flips it open, so Louis gets to work. 

He does a lot of reading of other toothpaste-related press releases and then does some research on toothpaste to see what kind of press they usually get when they’re first released. He reads online reviews in different markets and tries to see if anyone has anything to say about the marketing campaigns.

Louis realizes he’s finished his tea when he finds he’s got to pee. He looks up and Dimples is still there, reading away. 

“Hey,” he says, shutting his laptop. Dimples looks up at him. “I’m just going to run to the loo. You won’t steal my shit if I leave it here, will you?”

“No,” Dimples says, looking at his things and then looking back up at him. 

Louis nods, “Bless, thanks.”

He has to wait in a queue for the toilets but it moves fairly quickly. When he gets back to the table, Dimples looks like he’s reopening his book and shaking his head. Louis sits down and opens his laptop again. 

After a few moments of quiet, Dimples says, “Your mobile buzzed. I think you got a text.”

“Oh, cheers,” he says. 

He reads the message from Niall —his workmate, flatmate, and the second youngest person at Fireproof PR— and then puts in his passcode to respond.

Niall (10:27am):  _ Darling — where are those files again?? _

Louis (10:31am):  _ Right on top of my desk, are you blind? _

Niall (10:31am):  _ don’t be a prick, my eyes are going to fall out of my sockets from reading your chicken-scratch stuffed into the margins. _

Louis (10:32am):  _ Fuck off.  _

Louis (10:32am):  _ Jackson’s for lunch later? _

Niall (10:32am):  _ only if I don’t pass out from exhaustion before 12 _

Niall (10:32am):  _ even then come drag my body down the pub _

Niall (10:33am):  _ if I die, i want it to be some place i loved _

Louis puts down his mobile and shakes his head. 

“Your boyfriend?” he hears. And Louis looks up to find Dimples looking at him, book only half-open in his hands. 

“Nah, me mate,” Louis says, and then he starts to type in his laptop password before he stops. Wait. “Boyfriend?”

Dimples flushes and looks caught out. “I… I’m sorry. I looked at your mobile.” 

Louis is confused more than anything. “Why?”

He flushes a darker shade of pink. “I wasn’t really thinking. But then I just saw the text and assumed... I’m sorry.”

Louis doesn’t really know what to say to that. “S’okay,” he settles on. 

He works a little bit more and goes to take another sip of his tea before he remembers it’s empty. He looks back at the queue at the front forlornly. He should probably be getting back to the office anyway, he supposes. 

“So,” Dimples says. “Do you and your mate often call each other pet names?”

What?

“What?” Louis asks with a laugh. 

“It’s really nice,” Dimples rushes to say. “I’m kind of jealous, actually. We don’t really do that, as men, and I think we should. Use pet names. Like my sister sometimes calls me Sweets and it’s nice.”

Louis nods and sort of squints at him. “Yeah, no I like a pet name as much as the next guy. M’used to calling my little sisters things like that, as well.”

Dimples looks a little relieved by his answer. “So just natural for you to call mates that as well?”

Louis thinks on it. “I suppose. Not as often. More of a nickname person for me mates, but I’m not opposed.” Louis pauses. “I’m sorry, why are we talking about pet names?”

Dimples furrows his brows and gestures to Louis’ mobile. “Your mate called you ‘darling’.”

_ Ah.  _ Louis laughs a little and shakes his head. He feels his eyes crinkle at the side and watched Dimples smile a little at it. 

“Darling is the surname of the project we’re working on,” Louis says. “He wasn’t calling me darling, he was asking me where the files were for that project.”

Dimple blushes again and winces a bit. “Oh.”

But before he can feel too embarrassed, Louis says, “You can call me darling if you want, though. I agree, pet names are underutilized by the young male population and it’s time we broke down those barriers.”

The boy across from him nods a little. And Louis expects him to go back to his book as he gets ready to pack up his things, but then he says, “I’m going to get another coffee, can I get you anything?”

Oh. It’s Louis’ turn to flush a little. Not that this is a hot guy offering to buy him a drink, but  _ it’s a hot guy offering to buy him a drink. _

“It’s the least I could do,” Dimples adds. “I’ve invaded your privacy and babbled on about pet names for several minutes.” 

He gives him the most charming smile Louis has ever seen in his life, and suddenly he doesn’t know how he could go back to work without those lovely flushed cheeks and bright eyes. 

“Yeah, alright, if you don’t mind,” Louis says. 

“Not at all,” he answers. 

“A Yorkshire tea with a splash of milk please, love.” 

And then he hesitates when he realizes what he’s called him. 

“Absolutely,” Dimples answers easily grinning wider before he gets up from their table and makes it to the queue. 

Louis pulls up a blank document to start drafting the press release, but only gets one line in before Dimples comes back and very carefully places the cup beside Louis. 

“Thank y—” he starts to say, and then he looks at his cup, which has  _ Darling  _ written out on it like a name. He looks across the table, where Dimples is smiling into his own cup as he takes a sip. “You’re  _ quite  _ the cheeky one, aren’t you?” Louis asks.

Dimples shrugs and puts his cup down, just as careful, so Louis can read the word  _ Love  _ written there. 

“Darling and Love,” Louis says. “A bromance for the ages.”

Something happens in Dimples’ eyes, but Louis doesn’t really know how to read it. And before he can try, Dimples asks, “Making any progress?”

Louis shrugs. “If I’m honest, my brain’s a little fried. I’ve read so much I’m not sure if it can even recognize words any more.”

“Take a break,” Dimples says. 

“This is my break.”

“Take a better break.” 

Louis smiles and he makes a big show of shutting his laptop. “Alright,  _ Love,  _ tell me, what is a better break?”

“This.” He nods between them. “Grabbing something to drink and sitting with a mate. No screens.”

“Oh, we’re mates now, are we?”

“You did just say we’d have a bromance for the ages.”

Louis laughs and puts both hands around his cup. He feels a lightness in his chest he hasn’t felt in a bit. Not since before he broke up with Asad a few months ago. He was a good lad. Always trying to make Louis laugh. But then Louis felt like he had to laugh at everything, because when he didn’t, he’d get very self conscious, which got a little tiring after a while. 

“That I did. So this is  _ sort of _ your day off and you’re  _ sort of  _ a student. What else are you  _ sort of?” _

“Well, I’m  _ sort of _ looking for somewhere to go for lunch after this. Any recommendations?”

Louis laughs again. “Yeah, actually. What d’you like?”

Dimples takes another sip from his drink and he just looks at Louis while he does it. Louis feels his heart rate pick up, but he internally tells his body to calm down because it obviously doesn’t mean anything.

“I’m open to anything,” he says, “I’m a pretty adventurous eater.”

Louis nods. “Well, there’s not a lot in the way of truly adventurous around here, but there’s a Mediterranean place around the corner that has good falafel. There’s also an American diner that serves up a nice burger. Stay away from the chips though, they’re shit. Or there’s an Indian place a bit of a walk up the road, but they’ve got the best spicy curries around.”

“You like spice?” Dimples asks.

“Love spice.”

“How hot do you like it?”

Louis leans forward and drops his voice a little lower to say, “If it doesn’t get me hot and bothered, there’s no point.” And then he watches the boy across from him blink at him a few times before Louis laughs and sits back in his seat. “You a fan of spicy foods, as well?”

“Yeah,” Dimples says. “Like getting all worked up over it.”

Louis’ eyes crinkle again. “You’re not as innocent as you first look,  _ Love.” _

“Neither are you, Darling.”

They talk a bit more about the best meals they’ve ever eaten (Dimples is much fancier, answering  _ ‘Peking duck from a small village off the coast of China’ _ to Louis’  _ ‘me Nan’s Sunday roast’ _ ). Turns out Dimples is actually in Uni, so they talk about favourite courses and commiserate over how awful it is to work on group projects. They bond over a love of history, and Dimples lets Louis go off in a tangent about Greek mythology, before Louis realizes how long he’s been talking. 

“M’taking over the entire conversation,” Louis says. 

“S’alright,” Dimples says. “I like listening to you.”

And Louis is probably about to do something stupid, like flutter his eyelashes, or worse, lick his lips and look at Dimples’ mouth, when his mobile on the table top buzzes. 

Niall (11:55am): fuck mate, I’m so sorry, but Landon needs help with his white-paper

Niall (11:55am): gonna need to skip lunch today

Louis (11:56am): No worries, Nialler. I’ve been slacking so I should probably work through lunch anyhow. Drinks later?

Louis puts his mobile down again. “Me mate’s cancelled on lunch,” he says. “But probably for the best. Talking’s been good but—”

“Do you want to have lunch with me?” Dimples interrupts. 

Louis smiles. He really should get back to work, he thinks. 

“Sure,” he says. 

Dimples beams back at him. “Great. Let’s see how hot you can handle it, yeah?”

“Oh, it’s on, Love.” 

Louis grabs his laptop and considers running it back to his office across the street so he doesn’t have to carry it, but then he risks being pulled to the side by his boss, and he doesn’t want to chance being assigned something else that has to get done immediately. Not when there’s a cute boy who’s just flirtily challenged him. At least, that’s what he thinks is happening. 

Dimples puts his book into his jacket pocket and gestures for him to lead the way, so Louis does. They start walking up the busy road and Louis loosens his tie a little as they go. 

“So what are you studying?” Louis asks. 

“Politics and International Relations,” Dimples says. 

“Hey, me too!” Louis exclaims. “Well, partly. I was a double major in Political Science and Art History. So you gonna follow me down the extremely glamorous road of Public Relations when you graduate?”

Dimples laughs. “Maybe,” is all he says. 

“It’s not all bad,” Louis concedes. “A lot of my struggle is because I didn’t have any internships or nothing. If you start with one of those you’ll be in better shape.”

“I graduate in a few weeks actually,” Dimples says. “I haven’t had any internships either.”

Louis shrugs, “Well, then you’d  _ really  _ have to follow me down this path then, because I clearly am doing the best of anyone without an internship.”

“I think it would be a lovely path to follow,” he says with a lopsided grin.

“Alright, charmer, you can lay off now. We’re here.”

Louis stops in front of a tiny hole-in-the wall restaurant, with a small side on the front that says  _ Buffet Tues-Fri - 11am-2pm -  _ _ £8.99 _ . 

Louis opens the door and gestures for Dimples to go in before him. He grins and enters. 

It’s quiet today, Louis thinks, but Fridays are usually that way. People favour the Italian place in the town center which does £1 slices of pizza all afternoon. 

A lovely, older gentleman walks over to them from the back, smiling widely. “Good afternoon,” he says. “Two?”

“Please,” Louis says, and lets the man lead them to a small table by the window. 

Dimples seems to hesitate.

“This okay?” Louis asks. 

Dimples pauses and looks around. He seems to spot what he’s looking for and points over Louis shoulder as he turns to the man. “Could we sit over there?”

Louis follows where he’s pointing to and sees a line of booths along the side. 

He turns to Louis and says, “I just prefer booths.”

“Of course,” the man says, and walks over there. He places two menus on the table and asks if they would like the buffet. 

“Yes,” Louis says, just as Dimples says, “I’m not sure.”

Louis looks at him curiously. “The buffet has like a dozen different curries.”

Dimples shrugs, like he doesn’t know what to say. Louis just looks back. 

Eventually, after a long semi-awkward pause where the man is just standing and waiting, Dimples says, “Yeah, alright the buffet will be great.”

“Wonderful!” The man says, and he takes their menus away. “Would you like something to drink?”

“Water, please,” Dimples says. 

“Same, thank you,” Louis says. 

When the man is gone, Louis asks, “So what was that?”

“What was what?”

“Why didn’t you want the buffet?” Louis asks. 

“Oh,” Dimples says. He sort of shrugs again. “Dunno, guess I’ve just never done a buffet before.”

“Never done a buffet!” Louis exclaims. Dimples looks a little taken aback but he grins back at Louis. “Ah, come on now, Love, you’re a uni student, and it’s all-you-can-eat. It’s practically all you should know.”

“Well, then, Darling, please show me your ways.”

Louis beams and him and says, “Finally,” as he stands and makes his way over. He grabs two plates and hands one back to the boy behind him. “So, you have to come up with a strategy. You can’t go around mixing the wrong type of curries, or they muddle on the plate and you get some weird flavours. Or, if that’s your route, you need to build a comprehensive rice boarder in order to contain them. And then of course, you’ve got to grab naan, but don’t use your plate for that, grab a napkin and keep it on the side.”

“You’re very well versed,” Dimples says, sounding kind of awed. Good. As he should. 

“I’ve been my way around a buffet many a time, dear friend. Stick with me and you’ll get the hang of it in no time.” 

Louis loads up his place and supervises Dimples as he does the same. His rice border is well crafted. Louis is impressed. 

They take their plates back to their table and find their glasses of water already there. 

“You said this one was the spiciest?” Dimples asks. But before Louis can nod in affirmation, Dimples takes a large bite, tongue out first to get it all in. Wow he’s got a big mouth. 

Dimples chews happily, but Louis can see him blinking back a few tears and Louis can’t help but laugh and take just as big a bite. He has no tears in his eyes. 

“Just like rice-border-building, spicy-eating is an art, one that you must practice over many years,” Louis says. “Don’t worry, you’ll get the hang of it eventually.”

Dimples responds by taking an even bigger bite of the same curry, and Louis cackles as he has to chug down most of his glass of water after. 

They go for seconds, and Dimples pointedly looks at Louis as he loads his plate with the spiciest curry again. Louis feels himself go soft for such an idiotic move. 

When the man comes back with their check, Louis snatches it quickly and throws in enough notes to cover the bill and leave a nice little tip as Dimples tries to reach over and grab it. 

“No, I’m the one who invited you!” Dimples laughs. 

“Yeah, and I’m older.”

“How do you know?”

“Well how old are you?”

“Twenty-one.”

“Ha! Twenty-three. Listen to your elders.”

“No, seriously, let me,” Dimples says, looking at him earnestly. 

“Ah,” Louis coos. He puts the black book down beside him on top of his laptop as he shrugs back on his suit jacket, which he’d taken off about halfway through their meal. “Honestly, I’ve got it. Save your money for when you’re absolutely broke and have to eat pot noodles for every meal just to survive. You’re gonna need it.” Louis laughs. 

Dimples gives him a small smile and looks down at his hands as he says, “Well… thank you.”

“And now, sadly, it’s time for me to get back to work, and for you to… what are you doing here again?”

Dimples shrugs. “Just sightseeing.”

Louis nods with furrowed brows. “Sure. Sightseeing in Manchester.”

“What, people do it. I’m doing it.”

“Are there even any sights to see?”

“Of course there are.”

“Name one.”

A pause. “I can’t. But only because I haven’t seen them yet!” Dimples argues. 

Louis hands then check and cash to the man as they make their way out of the restaurant. 

Once on the street, Louis is prepared to part ways. Maybe try to sneak giving his mobile number, if it feels natural enough. But then Dimples asks, “Headed back that way?” Louis nods. “Cool, me too. Can I walk with you?”

“Erm. Yeah, sure, if you’d like.”

They walk in silence side by side for a minute, before they turn and start to speak at the same time. 

“Where are you—”

“Any plans toni—”

“Sorry—”

“I’m sorry—”

They smile at each other. Dimples gestures with his hand, palm up, for Louis to speak. 

“Erm. Just. Where are you studying?”

“Oxford.” Dimples says, sticking his hands in his pockets. 

Louis whistles. “Wow.” 

The boy blushes a little. “It’s a good school.”

“It’s a  _ great  _ school. You must be one helluva student to have gotten in there.”

He shrugs and they keep walking. He clears his throat to ask, “So, any fun plans tonight?”

Louis smirks. “Why, you looking to crash a party?”

“Is there a party to crash?”

“When I’m around, there always is,” Louis says. And then he laughs at himself. 

But Dimples just looks at him sincerely and says, “I bet that’s absolutely true.”

“No, no parties,” Louis says, ignoring the comment. He has to, or else he’ll blush and he’s already blushed too many times today. “It’s been a while since I’ve been to a party, actually. Usually me and my mate go down to the pub right by our flat, have a few fruity drinks and some shots, and then pass out before we gotta do it all over again.” 

Dimples nods. “So that’s what you’ll be doing tonight?”

“Most likely,” Louis says. “Why?”

“Just trying to get a sense of what your life is like.”

“Why?” Louis asks again. 

“I guess… I don’t really have that many friends. And I’m still in uni so I don’t have that much flexibility, either. Just wondering what it’s like, out there in the real world.”

“It’s not sunshine and rainbows, I can tell you that.” Louis looks up then, at the sky, and feels the heat of the sun on his face. “Can’t even tell you the last time I’ve been out like this on a weekday.”

“You never take days off?”

“I haven’t in a long while,” he confesses.

Louis is about to say that Dimples should give him his number so that he can make sure he takes another day off soon, but he gets distracted by a few girls with a little table and three playing cards on top of it. They can’t be more than seven. 

“Hello, hello,” Louis says to them, stopping just in front. “What’ve we got here?” he asks, squatting down in front so he’s a little lower than their eye-level. 

There’s a woman standing just behind and smiling at them, nodding when one turns around to look, silently asking permission. 

“We’re performing magic tricks!” the girl says when she turns back around. She’s got her dark brown hair pulled back in plaits and Louis’ heart warms. 

“What are you performing magic for, girls?” the woman asks. 

“To raise money!” The blonde one says. 

“For our school,” the third with little glasses finishes, smiling shyly at him. 

“Education is very important,” Louis says. Then he thumbs over his shoulder at Dimples. “My mate is in uni, at a very good school. Is your school very good?”

“It’s alright,” the blonde says. 

“Emma!” The woman scolds. 

“I mean,” Emma says, “it’s good.”

Louis laughs a little. “Alright, well that’s good. I am ready to see these magic tricks. And don’t hold back, neither, I am pretty good at spotting fake magic, so you’ve got to make it good.”

They all nod very seriously and step up one by one to perform their magic. Blonde Emma makes fake flowers pop out of a wand. The girl with the plaits gives Louis never-ending scarves to pull out of her sleeve. The particularly shy one with glasses shows him a card trick, and Louis pretends to have been distracted by a passing card so she can pick up the card she dropped and keep going. 

He makes lots of ooo-ing noises and gasps at all the right places. The girls all seem very pleased with themselves at the end, and Louis feels unbearably fond, thinking of his younger sisters. 

“Thank you so much girls, those were top notch. Weren’t they?” Louis looks back at Dimples, who’s just looking at Louis, looking very fond himself. Probably just for the girls, Louis thinks, trying to bite back his grin. 

“Impeccable,” Dimples says, looking past Louis to smile and nod at them. 

“Now, how much for the show?”

“Two pounds,” the one with the plaits says. 

“Psh, for this  _ quality?”  _ Louis pretends to be offended, reaching into his wallet. “You are way undercharging.” He passes the shy one a twenty pound note. “The rest is a tip for the brilliance of it. Keep practicing, I think yous are going places.”

The girls are all giddy at the twenty pound, whispering to themselves and saying thank you loudly, in unison. 

Louis stands and straightens to look at the woman, who’s looking at Dimples a bit curiously, like she might recognize him. 

“What program is this for?” Louis asks. 

The woman looks back to him and smiles. “For children who can’t afford to go on the school trip to the Science Centre. We’ve got quite a few kids in the girls’ class who have different home lives, and they wanted to have their friends with them when they went.” 

Louis feels like crying. 

He opens his wallet again and pulls out another forty quid. “Wish it could be more,” he says. 

The woman looks a little shocked. “Thank you!”

Louis shakes his head. “Hopefully that helps a couple of them, yeah?”

The woman nods, and it looks like she’s about to start crying as well, so Louis turns and waves at the girls. “Take care, girls. You’re all magical!”

They giggle and Louis’ walking away, trying to compose himself. 

It takes a few moments, but Louis realizes Dimples is no longer beside him. He turns just to see a still-shocked look on the woman’s face and Dimples jogging to catch up. 

“Sorry,” he says, “I had to tie my shoe.” Louis nods. “That was… that was really nice, what you did back there.” 

Louis shakes his head and waves him away. “Anyone would do it.”

“No,” Dimples says sincerely. “No, not anyone would.”

Louis shrugs. “I’ve got sisters. And, uh, two of them actually  —the  twins — were adopted from foster care,” he says. He shrugs again. “They were a bit older, just about eleven when me mum and stepdad were fostering, and we all just fell in love with them so quick. It’s harder for older kids to get adopted. Harder still to have siblings adopted together. They’ve told me a bit what it was like, and not being able to go on school trips was a big one that just made them feel so… other.”

Louis shakes his head again and sighs. “I just wanted to… well, I guess school trips are one of the best parts of school, and I hate the idea of kids missing out just because their mums can’t afford it or they haven’t got anyone to afford it for them.” 

A comforting beat of silence, and then Dimples is saying, “That’s really lovely. Really, really lovely.”

And Louis feels a pang at just how much he misses his girls. He’ll have to ring them this weekend. But Louis doesn’t want to delve into that right now. He’s sure that’s not what Dimples wants to be thinking about on his sight-seeing day. 

“Besides,” Louis says, “really I’m just doing it as practice for when I have my own kids one day.”

“Yeah?” Dimples asks. 

Louis nods. “Yeah, want a whole trove of them.” 

Dimples laughs. 

“You laugh, but I grew up the oldest of five, I know how crazy a house like that can be, but I have the best memories. And I love them all so much.” 

When Louis looks over, the boy’s dimples are out in full force. “I want loads of kids, as well,” he says. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I can’t wait to be a dad.”

Part of Louis wants to laugh, wants to shake his head and say that Dimples is so young that he shouldn’t be thinking about that far into the future. But he can’t, really, because Louis’ been thinking like that since he was sixteen and fiercely in love with his new little sisters, ready to take down the world if it so much as thought about hurting them. 

So he says, “Yeah, me too.”

They’re quiet and, after another minute of walking, very near Louis’ work again. He clutches hold of his laptop, and tries to think of a clever way to offer his number. Just in case Dimples is ever this far north of his Uni again. Maybe in a few weeks, when he graduates. If he was already planning on spending time up this way, that is. 

Suddenly, he hears, “Play hookey.”

“What?” Louis laughs, turns to look at the boy. 

“Play hookey,” he repeats. “Just for another little bit. I was thinking of maybe hopping on one of those tour bus things.”

“You… oh come on you’ve got to be kidding!” Louis laughs at him, smiling bright. “Ah, those things are such a ripoff.”

Dimples shrugs. “Not if you sneak on without paying.”

Louis’ jaw drops a little. “Excuse me?”

He smirks and just shrugs again. “What do you say?”

“I say you’re not as innocent as you look.”

“You’ve said that already.”

“Yeah, well, you’ve made my point again, so I’m allowed to repeat myself.”

They keep walking and Dimples nudges Louis’ shoulder with his own. “C’mon,” he says. “Live a little.” 

Louis looks out in front of him, at the city covered in sunlight, and then the boy to his right, who’s beaming at him in a way that makes it hard to say no. 

So Louis doesn’t. 

“Yeah, alright, why not.”

Dimples looks pleasantly surprised and he reaches for Louis’ hand, the one closest to him, the one not holding on to his laptop (his laptop he’s going to need to carry with them wherever Dimples drags him off to, because he certainly can’t chance going to the office now), and he pulls him along until they’re running. 

“Why are we running?” Louis asks, sort of shouts at him, loud enough that people turn and frown or smile as they sprint past.

“There’s no time to waste!” Dimples shouts back. And Louis giggles and tries to keep pace with those (gorgeous) long legs. 

They make it another two blocks before they come across one of the buses he was talking about, and it looks like there’s a group currently getting off. Dimples pulls him along and they go to the back of the bus behind an older couple who’re trying to find their passes to show the driver. The driver is turned away, looking out onto the street and shaking his head. Maybe at the couple, or maybe at the group of kids skateboarding on the sidewalk, Louis can’t tell. But they make it through and Dimples pulls him up the stairs and to the top. 

They take seats towards the front and catch their breath a little. 

“You’re an awful influence,” Louis says when his heart rate has returned to normal. Dimples beams at him before turning to the side and looking out across the city. And wow. 

Louis just has to take a moment to appreciate him in profile. He’s still got a bit of a baby face, but there’s the hint of an angular jaw, and the barest sprinkling of stubble across his chin. Little peach fuzz along his upper lip, as well. The dimple is even better up close. Louis wants to poke it, but he holds back. Bit too weird when he doesn’t even know his name, probably. 

Oh. Louis doesn’t even know this boy’s name. 

He’s trying to think of a way to ask, when suddenly Dimples turns back to him and says, “Do you like macarons?”

“Oh,” Louis says, a little startled. “Erm, I don’t think I’ve had one, actually.”

“I think I see a shop and I’m craving something sweet,” he says, looking Louis directly in the eyes. Wow. “Do you think we should get off?”

_ Get off,  _ his brains supplies unhelpfully.  _ You’d like to  _ get off, _ wouldn’t you? _

Louis clears his throat. “Yeah, if you’d like.”

“Great!” he exclaims. And he stands, grabs Louis’ hand again, and pulls him along until they’re running off the bus before it even stops fully. 

Dimples drags him along to a shop with big front windows, decorated with painted flowers on the front. On further examination, the flowers are made up of drawings of little macaron cookies. 

Before he can appreciate the intricate work, the boy pulls him forward again and through the door. 

There’s only one other patron in the shop, and the woman is sitting off to the side with a closed book in front of her, looking out through the window at people walking by on the street. 

Dimples doesn’t let go of Louis’ hand as he starts looking at the rows and rows of cookies. Louis doesn’t try to pull away. 

“Hello,” a girl behind the counter says. “Let me know if you have any questions.

“Thank you,” Dimples says, smiling at her. She smiles back and looks at him a little more intently this time. 

“You look familiar,” she says. “Do I know you?”

He keeps smiling, but clutches at Louis’ hand a little tighter. Louis’ not sure what that means. 

“I don’t think so,” Dimples says. Then he turns to Louis and says, “Darling, which flavour did you want to try?”

“Oh, erm,” he stutters. And then the girl is looking at him, and looking down and their hands clasped together and her eyebrows raise. Louis suddenly feels a little self conscious and flexes his fingers. He doesn’t try to pull away, but Dimples drops his hand anyway. Louis takes it and scratches the side of his head. “I’m not sure.”

“Have you had one before?” the girl asks. Louis shakes his head. She smiles kindly at him. “I’d recommend the vanilla or the chocolate to start, you know, ease into a bit.”

Suddenly there’s the weight of an arm draped over Louis’ shoulders, and Dimples is saying, “What’s your favourite?”

“Me? I love the pistachio, but I’ve also got a soft spot for the lavender.”

Louis can feel the warmth of the boy's body all over his left side and he clutches at his laptop a little tighter, because the other option is to clutch onto  _ him  _ a little tighter, and Louis’ not sure what’s happening here, and doesn’t want to risk upsetting him. 

“Oh, lavender,” Dimples coos. 

“Ours is really subtle. It’s easy for it to taste like soap if you add too much, but it strikes the right balance.”

“I definitely want one of them,” he says, and then turning back to Louis, pulling him in a little further to his side, asks, “Darling?”

“Erm,” Louis says. “I’m not sure.”

“I’ll grab the lavender. Just have a look and let me know.”

She turns to the wall, grabs a little wax paper bag off a shelf, and walks over to the far end of the counter. 

“What’s your favourite flavour?” Dimples asks. 

He’s leaning in a bit. Louis can feel the breath hit the side of his face he’s so close. And before he even really thinks about it, he’s whispering out his answer. “Strawberry.”

“Love strawberries,” Dimples says. And then the weight of his arm is gone and he’s stepping forward to say, “And a strawberry one, if you’ve got it!”

“Yes!” the girl says. 

Louis opens his eyes. Didn’t realize he’d closed them in the first place. And it’s just in time because the girl is coming back, and she turns and smiles at them, and then Dimples turns around and smiles at Louis and his heart picks up at a million miles an hour. 

“Anything else?” she asks. 

Dimples looks to Louis, as if he could speak right now. Psh. He shakes his head. 

“That’s it, thanks.” And he’s pulling out his wallet, handing over a tenner and taking his change all before Louis has the wherewithal to speak. 

“You didn’t have to,” he says. 

“It’s not a problem,” Dimples says. And then to the girl. “Is there anything to do close-by?”

“Not really,” she says with a sympathetic smile. “There’s the Museum of Transport just around the corner, but I think that closes in half an hour.”

“Oh!” Dimples exclaims. And he turns to Louis with the biggest smile on his face, like she’s told him there’s someone handing out hundred pound notes instead of some weirdly specific museum. “We have to, don’t you think?”

And he looks so excited, Louis can’t do anything but nod, totally enraptured by his bright eyes and bouncing energy. 

“Which way?” Dimples asks.

“Take a left out of the shop and then a left again around the corner. There are a bunch of red garage doors, and after that you should see a sign.”

“Great, thank you!” he exclaims. He grabs the little macaron bag with one hand and Louis’ hand with the other. Louis is ready for it this time and holds on tight as they move forward. “I’ve always wanted to go to this kind of museum,” Dimples tells him. 

Louis can’t help but laugh. “A weird one?”

“Yes,” he says emphatically. 

“I wouldn’t get your hopes too high, you know,” Louis says. “I bet it’s only small.”

“That’s perfect,” he says. “If she’s right we’ve only got twenty-five minutes to see all of it. Better if it’s small.” 

“Okay,” Louis says. 

They make it to the museum quickly, because Dimples has long legs and Louis is moving as quick as he can to keep up with him. 

“Hi!” he says, when they make it inside. “Two please.”

A kind-looking older woman nods at him and says, “of course. Are either of you in uni?”

Before Dimples can answer, Louis says, “Yes, both of us.”

“Wonderful, I just need to see your student IDs, loves.”

Dimples kind of blanches, and looks over at Louis uncertainty before saying, “I’m sorry, I don’t have mine with me.”

“Oh, that’s alright, dear,” she says, “I think one ID will be okay.”

“I don’t have mine either, I’m afraid,” Louis says, trying to look disappointed. “I had an internship interview and left it at home.”

“Oh,” she says again, smiling and looking at both of them. “Alright dears, I trust you. That’ll be six pounds please.”

Louis hands over a ten pound note before Dimples can and he waits for his change.

When they walk in and away from earshot, Dimples says, “I can’t believe you lied!”

Louis shrugs. “Told you,” he said, smirking up at him, pulling him along now. “You’re a terrible influence.”

They walk around the (one room) museum, and stare at the buses throughout the ages. There’s only one open to actually go up in, so they save that for last. It’s big and green with cream-coloured trim along the top and sides. It’s an old double-decker, so they walk carefully up the steps and each sit on opposite sides of the isle, stretching their legs out across the seats. They look at each other while eating their macarons. 

“Hey,” Louis says. 

“Hey back,” Dimples says. 

“How come you were so nervous about not having your ID?”

The boy’s grin falls and he looks down into his lap.

“Are you not really in uni?” Louis tries.

“No. No I am,” he says. 

“Okay,” Louis says. And he doesn’t know if he should —is allowed— to push any more, so he decides to drop it. Maybe he’s run off for the weekend and left his ID, like Louis said he did when he lied, and is embarrassed about being irresponsible or something. He seems like the type to think something like that. 

After a minute, Dimples reaches into his pocket and pulls out his wallet. He looks through it before pulling out a small white card. He holds it for a moment before scooching forward and handing it over to Louis, so Louis does the same in order to reach out and take it. 

It’s a student ID, with University of Oxford across a blue banner at the top. It has his name —Harry E. Styles— and UNDERGRADUATE of Politics and International Relations written underneath. There’s a student ID number, and to the left of it, the goofiest picture Louis has ever seen of a student before. Including his own horrendous Uni photo. 

“Oh, wow,” Louis says, and he looks up to find Dimples biting his lip. “This is the worst picture ever.”

He looks up, clearly startled, and furrows his brows. “It is not,” he says. 

“It absolutely is,” Louis says. He turns it around in order to show Harry just how awful. “Your whole face is your cheeks.”

“Hey!” he laughs. 

“And your hair looks makes you look like a chia pet.” 

“Excuse you!” he laughs again. 

“And what are you wearing?”

He continues to laugh and points at his image and says, “That outfit was very popular on my first day. I got three compliments in my first lecture alone!”

Louis snorts, which he admits isn’t all that attractive of him, but it’s warranted. “Well three people didn’t want to see your little cherub face frown. That’s the only reasonable explanation.” 

“Shut up,” he giggles, and tries to swipe the card out of Louis’ hands, but Louis just leans back to keep it out of reach. 

“No, wait, let me take a picture of this first. I want to keep it forever.”

“Give it back!” Harry says, now trying to wrestle it out of his grip. And it’s all fun and games until Louis realizes he’s got a boy in his lap, grabbing at his wrist, while his laptop digs into his bum as he arches back. 

It seems Harry realizes around the same time because he stops and looks down at where they’re pressed together and stops giggling. He slowly pulls back and slides back into the seat across from Louis, only now grinning a little tentatively, like he’s not sure if he’s crossed some line. 

Louis’ cheeks feel warm as he stretches out his arm in order to hand the ID back. “You, erm… it’s not a bad picture,” Louis admits. “You actually look really cute in it.” 

The grin is a little more sure now. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Almost as cute as I am right now?”

Louis laughs. “Yeah. Yeah, almost.”

They look at each other for a moment, grinning like  _ idiots.  _

“Hiya,” a voice calls from down below. “Just to let you lads know, we’ll be closing in 5 minutes.”

“Thank you,” Louis says. 

“We’ll be right down,” Harry says. 

They stand at the same time and Louis moves to go down the stairs first before he feels a hand on his arm. 

“You know my name now,” Harry says. “I think it’s only fair that I get yours.”

He smiles and says, “It’s Louis. Tomlinson.”

“Louis Tomlinson,” Harry whispers. “It’s nice to meet you, Louis.” He holds out his hand for a handshake and Louis feels his whole face scrunch up at how hard he’s smiling. 

“It’s nice to meet you, too, Harry, you absolute weirdo.”

For some reason, it makes Harry smile harder. 

They walk down the steps and towards the front, and Harry stops him before he can get out the door, and gestures to the little table behind the woman at the front. “Excuse me, how much are those little buses?”

“Two pounds each, love.”

“Can I have two, please? Of the little green and cream ones?”

She nods and goes to get them. Before Harry can hand over money, Louis hands her the four pounds in change he got back earlier and thanks her as she hands Harry the toys. 

“Louis, no!” 

“Thank you!” Louis says, and grabs Harry’s unoccupied hand to pull him out. 

“I was going to buy them.”

“Well, I got there first, didn’t I?” Louis doesn’t let go of his hand as he starts walking. He doesn’t know where he’s leading them, but it doesn’t matter because Harry holds onto his hand tighter as they continue. “Now you’ll have them to remember that weird museum adventure.”

Harry puts one of them in his pocket, and leans over his own body to slip the other inside Louis’ suit jacket pocket. “You will, too.” He smiles brightly at him, and Louis feels butterflies erupt inside his abdomen. 

“Well,” Louis says, “It’s just 3pm now. Where-to next?”

Harry looks over at him, looking both pleased and shocked. “You aren’t going to try and go back to work?”

“Do you want me to?”

“No!” he exclaims. And then he coughs and pulls himself back a little, and says (calmer this time), “I mean, no, not if you don’t want to.”

“Ah, it’s not a true day of playing hookey if you quit halfway through, now is it? Although I probably should get some wifi to check my email. Maybe send my boss a message that I’ve fallen a bit ill and need to take the day off.” Louis shakes his head. Can’t believe he’s taking his first ever day off to spend with a boy he doesn’t know.

“There!” Harry shouts, and pulls him along, and into a little bar. 

“Harry, it’s  _ 3pm.”  _

“Yes, and?” Harry asks. He pulls him to sit on a stool at the bar and grabs a menu as Louis shakes his head and opens up his laptop. 

“And, you better believe I’m getting something fruity and delicious and full of alcohol.”

“There we go,” Harry says, turning his attention back to the menu. 

Louis logs on to the wifi and checks his email. He’s got five new messages, but none from his boss, which hopefully means he hasn’t noticed his absence too bad. Louis starts to type out a new message, explaining that he’s suddenly not feeling well, and has had to head home, just as the bartender comes over to them. 

“Hi lads. What can I get for you?” he asks. 

“Louis, do you know?” Harry asks. Louis looks up at the bartender, and then over at Harry, and finally to the menu. He looks back at Harry and he says, “Surprise me” before turning back to his laptop. 

“A Pink Dragon and a Well Hung Spritzer, please. Thanks!” Harry says. And Louis wants to ask what either of those are (and quite frankly laugh at Harry for having the balls to order something like that), but he’s got to finish this first. 

Harry, to his credit, doesn’t try to distract Louis at all. Just pulls out his own mobile and taps away at it as Louis types. 

Louis knows he’s a solid writer and a solid liar, but he’s hoping the message sounds as believable and worthy of sympathy over email as Louis would make it sound face to face. He’s finishing scanning for typos when the drinks get placed down in front of them. Louis hears Harry thank the bartender and slides the pink glass over beside him. 

Finally, Louis closes his computer and looks at the drink, and then at Harry. He smiles. “Now, what is this again?” 

“A Pink Dragon,” Harry says. “It’s got raspberry and mango. It didn’t look like they had anything with strawberries in it, sorry.”

Louis’ heart picks up speed a bit as he thinks of Harry meticulously reading through a drink menu to find his favourite flavour. He ignores it as he nods at the blue drink in Harry’s hand. 

“And so that is…?”

“A Well Hung Spritzer,” he says with a cheshire-cat grin. 

It’s a light blue, and has a cherry, a pineapple, and an orange at the top of the glass. 

“And what exactly is that?”

“Orange and banana.”

Louis laughs. “Oh my god it is not.”

“It is!” Harry insists, laughing as well. “And they’re my favourite flavours, so I had to. Plus, I loved the name.”

“Yeah? Felt a special connection with it, did you?”

“A very  _ personal  _ special connection.”

Louis flushes and wills himself not to look down to Harry’s crotch to try and see if it is, indeed, what he’s implying. But before he can think about it too much, Louis feels a vibration in his pocket as his mobile rings. He takes it out and sees that it’s Niall. 

“Sorry,” he says, “I’ve got to take this.”

He stands and walks away from the bar and outside the building. 

“Hey Nialler,” he answers. 

_ “Lou, you alright?” _ Niall says. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good.”

_ “Good,” _ Niall sighs.  _ “What happened? You left to go write a press release and never came back? And I just heard from Jeremy you called out sick — is everything okay?” _

“Yeah, sorry. I meant to text actually, it’s just,” Louis pauses and turns around to look through the window, to look at Harry sitting at the bar, chatting to the bartender. He’s got this lovely big smile on his face, and Louis’ heart has a lot to say about it. “Ni, I think I’ve met someone.”

_ “You met someone?” _

“I’ve met someone,” he repeats. 

_ “Where did you meet someone?” _

“At the cafe this morning,” he says. Through the window, he sees Harry turn his mobile around to show the bartender something, and the bartender smiles tightly at whatever’s on the screen and nods his head. 

_ “How the— bloody hell, you’re the only person I know who could go to a cafe and get hit on first thing in the morning while doing  _ work _. Jesus.”  _

Louis giggles. “I’ll tell you about it later, but I’ve got to go.”

_ “Are you with them right now?” _

Louis’ eyes crinkle and he nods. “Yeah,” he says. 

_ “Ah, fuck you, you wanker,” _ Niall says, laughing.  _ “Alright go on. But you’re telling me every detail when we go for drinks later!” _

“About that… can we play it by ear? I don’t… I’m not sure if I’ll be…”

_ “Yeah, yeah, you’re not sure if you’ll still be staring moonily into each other’s eyes, I get it. Just text me.” _

“I will.”

_ “Bloody attractive git…”  _ he hears Niall murmur.  _ “Have a good day, Lou. Chuffed for you, mate.” _

Louis hangs up and hurries back inside, wide grin on his face. And just as he walks through the door, he hears Harry say, “He’s a great boyfriend. The best. Love him so much.” And Louis stops in his tracks.

The bartender nods, smiles at Harry, and then looks over his shoulder, moving down to the other side in order to serve another patron. 

Louis’ heart falls. 

Boyfriend. 

Of course Harry’s got a boyfriend. Yeah. Louis was just being stupid, of course. Of course. 

Louis finds the feeling in his feet again and walks forward to sit down on the stool next to Harry, who has a boyfriend. He tries to force a natural-looking smile, and thinks he’s doing okay until Harry’s eyebrows pinch together and he says, “What’s wrong?”

Louis shakes his head and takes another sip of his drink. “No, nothing.”

“Everything okay? Did something happen?”

“No, no, nothing happened. Was just Niall. Me mate. He was just calling to see if I was okay.” Louis looks at his glass and wonders how quickly he can finish his drink and run away from here. God he’s been so embarrassing today. And Harry has a boyfriend. 

He’s about to pull the glass forward to start when he feels Harry’s hand move up his arm to his shoulder, and squeeze a little. Louis looks over at Harry, who’s smiling a little flirtatiously. Louis is… confused. 

And then Harry’s hand goes a bit higher until it sits on Louis’ neck. 

“You work so hard,” Harry says, thumbing over the corner of his jaw, and Louis clenches down on his teeth automatically. “So proud of you,” he says. 

Louis just blinks. 

Harry adjusts his body so he’s turned fully to Louis, but Louis can’t move. He feels trapped by the weight of Harry’s hand on his skin. 

“I was thinking we could go to a chipper after this,” Harry says. “What do you think?”

Louis nods a little dumbly. “Yeah, okay,” he says. “Whatever you want.”

Harry smiles brilliantly at him. “You’re so good to me.”

Louis licks his lips and Harry’s eyes flicker down to them and then back up to his eyes. 

Louis doesn’t know what’s happening, but now Harry is leaning in. And, fuck, Louis can’t think. Just automatically zeros in on Harry’s lips and the feeling of his skin and the way he’s smiling right at Louis. And his heart is beating wildly. Harry must feel it. Must feel it like it’s beating against the palm of his hand. But he keeps leaning in. 

And before he even knows he’s doing it, Louis closes his eyes and he parts his lips and he waits. He waits for Harry to press into him. And he was worried about something a second ago, wasn’t he? He was, he thinks. But god, Harry’s got to be closer now. Got to be so close to his mouth. 

Suddenly he feels hair tickle against the side of his face, and Harry’s is whispering in his ear, “Sorry,” he says. Louis opens his eyes. “The bartender was being a dick. Tell you about it in a minute.”

And he pulls back and smiles at him again, and removes his hand from Louis’ neck and turns back to his drink. 

What...just happened. Louis looks over and finds the bartender looking at them, but when Louis makes eye contact, he blinks and turns away to pour a pint. 

Harry pulls back from his drink, and Louis realizes it’s empty. He turns to his own glass and it’s still more than half-way full, so he takes a long pull from it. 

“Can I get you two another round?” the bartender asks. 

“No,” Harry answers, looking at Louis and smiling. “Just the tab.”

The bartender puts a piece of paper in front of them and Louis reaches for his wallet in a bit of a daze. 

“No, Darling, you paid for lunch. And our museum tickets! I’ve got this.” 

Louis vaguely recognizes that Harry puts down twenty quid and hears him say, “Keep the change” before he grabs Louis’ hand and pulls him out of the bar. 

Once they’re outside, and past the row of windows, Harry lets out a big laugh, rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “You wouldn’t believe it,” Harry says. He looks over at him, wide eyed, still shaking his head before looking straight ahead again. 

“So I’m sitting there, and he comes over and asks me how my day is, and I tell him about what we’ve done today. And then I showed him… oh, uh…” Harry looks over at him and bites his lip. “I showed him this picture of you in the museum. Sorry. I didn’t ask you if I could take a picture, but you were looking up at this one bus and… and I can delete it if you want. But, anyway. I show him the picture, and he sort of shakes his head and says that he sees your type all day long.”

“My type?” Louis asks. 

“Yeah, exactly. So I ask him what he means, and he says,  _ ‘You know. Workaholics that don’t pay any attention to their partners.’ _ And I tried to give the benefit of the doubt, but then he goes on like,  _ ‘those men aren’t good for you, sweetheart. You should let me take you out and show you how real men treat their boyfriends.’”  _

Louis blinks and tries to figure out what that means. 

“Basically, he was saying you were a shit boyfriend, and I couldn’t have it, so… sorry I didn’t ask or anything, but I was sort of pretending you were my boyfriend.” 

“Oh,” Louis says, as it all clicks. “So you don’t have a boyfriend?”

Harry laughs. “No, I don’t have a boyfriend. And I was going to full-on kiss you, but I didn’t want… I mean you didn’t know what was going on so I didn’t think it was fair to do that.”

Harry doesn’t have a boyfriend. 

Louis smiles a little and automatically squeezes Harry’s hand in his. Harry squeezes back and they continue walking, hand-in-hand. 

“I know you’re not actually my boyfriend,” Harry says, “but I couldn’t go around having someone think you were a shitty one. Like, I bet your girlfriend would be really upset if someone thought that someone was saying that about you.” 

Girlfriend?

“I don’t have a girlfriend?” Louis says, confused. 

“Oh,” Harry says. “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to assume. I bet your boyfriend would be really upset then.”

And Louis pulls back without letting go of Harry’s hand and narrows his eyes at him. “You’re not being subtle,” he says. 

Harry looks at him, and he looks like he’s trying much too hard to appear innocent. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Louis smiles and says, “I don’t have a boyfriend either.”

“Oh,” Harry says, eyes wide. “Well, then I wouldn’t want your future girlfriend or boyfriend to be upset at the thought of someone thinking you were a bad boyfriend.”

Louis can’t help but laugh. “You’re such a weirdo.”

Harry continues, as if Louis hadn’t spoken, “Just like I would be upset if my potential boyfriend or girlfriend thought someone was thinking that I was a bad boyfriend.” 

“You’re a freak,” Louis giggles and squeezes his hand again, to let Harry know he doesn’t really think so. 

Harry giggles back, squeezing his hand as well. “A boyfriend-less freak,” he agrees. 

Louis nods. “That’s good to know.”

“Is it?” Harry asks. “Hm.”

He looks back at Louis and they both burst into laughter. If Louis feels his stomach flip at the sound, well, no one needs to know. 

Harry’s mobile goes off every few minutes, but he seems set on ignoring it, so Louis tries to, too. 

He tells these stories that don’t really have a point to them, but there’s half a dozen jokes embedded in each one that make Louis nearly keel over from laughter. He’s got a dirty mouth, too. Any of his raunchy jokes are downright filthy, and Louis can’t help but laugh at them just as hard as all his other ones, even the ones that make him blush. 

He asks Louis all about what it was like in his hometown and growing up with four sisters, and getting a football scholarship. He asks Louis about his favourite music and his favourite books and his favourite drinks. He asks Louis what he cares about more than anything, what he’s scared of more than anything, what he wants more than anything. 

The only thing he doesn’t seem to ask Louis is  _ “Can I kiss you?” _ and it’s the only thing Louis really wishes he would ask. 

They walk for another little bit and Louis finds they’re actually not too far from his flat anymore. Which means they’ve walked nearly 5 kilometers from the macaron shop. And Louis can’t stop smiling at the thought that he hasn’t really noticed the ache in his feet or the time passing because Harry’s just so  _ fun.  _

They walk for a bit longer, and stumble upon a little street fair. It looks like they’re still setting up, so they walk over and Louis asks what time they open. A worker with bright blue hair smiles and tells them around 6pm, and lets them know there will be fireworks around midnight. They thank them and look at each other knowingly. 

Louis asks Harry if he minds if they stop by his flat so he can drop off his laptop (finally) and maybe change his clothes before they head over to the fair. Harry says he doesn’t, so Louis leads them there. 

“Sorry for the mess,” Louis says as he unlocks the door. 

Harry’s already shaking his head, as if to say Louis shouldn’t worry about it, as Louis opens the door. 

“I share with my mate, and the rooms are small, but we’ve both got our own.”

“Wow,” Harry says. 

“Neither of us really cook,” Louis continues, “so the kitchen is more storage for microwave meals and tea, but it works. And, protip, do not sit on the sofa. I’m pretty sure Niall  _ made love  _ to some girl on there a few weeks ago by the sounds she was making. Like, good for them but I sure do wish they’d gone to his room, you know what I mean? It’s just there.”

And, okay, Louis is rambling a little. But he can’t help it, because he’s watching Harry walk around his little flat, all tall and rosy cheeked and bright eyed and looking so fucking kissable, Louis can hardly stand it anymore. So he has to talk or else he’ll end up marching straight over there and plant one right on him. 

It might not be a problem. Probably not a problem at all, from the way Harry’s been holding his hand and bumping his shoulder and throwing those cheeky smiles at him all day. 

But now Louis is nervous. Capital ‘N’  _ Nervous.  _ Because it’s not just a cute boy any more, but a cute boy he  _ likes.  _ One who’s smart and funny and lovely and looks so beautiful and has a deep voice that’s been hanging around inside the walls of Louis’ head with every word. And Louis doesn’t know how to act around boys he likes. 

He knows how to act around hot guys. He knows how to act around smart guys. He knows how to act around all different kinds of guys… but how does he act around one that smiles when Louis talks about his sisters. Or one that says  _ tell me more  _ when Louis keeps going on and on about the differences between Greek and Roman mythology. Or one that looks at him like he might just like Louis, too. 

Louis clears his throat and finds that he was just staring at Harry. Is just continuing to stare at Harry. 

And Harry’s just staring back at him with those beautiful green eyes. 

“Sorry,” Louis says. He throws a thumb over his shoulder and says, “I’m just going to go change. And, you know,” he pats the laptop in his hand, “put this down. Finally. Haha.”

Harry nods softly and continues to look at him. 

It makes Louis feel a buzz under his skin. 

Louis turns and goes to his room, closes the door, and leans back against it to compose himself. He breathes deeply. Okay. Okay he can do this. He can be around a boy he likes. He can. He doesn’t know how yet, but he can. 

He pushes himself away after a few moments and puts the laptop down so he can tug off his suit jacket. He’s just pulling off his cheap Tesco-bought tie when he hears a knock and Harry call out, “Lou?”

He feels a zip up his spine. 

Louis opens the door and finds Harry there, rushing at him and pulling him in immediately, grabbing the back of his head, and kissing him. 

He lets out a gasp in surprise, and then a moan as he clutches as Harry’s biceps. Oh god, thank fuck. 

Harry pulls back just enough to say, “I’m sorry, I couldn’t wait any more.” And then they’re back to kissing. 

Louis pulls back this time to say, “Took you long enough.”

And they laugh into each other’s mouths as Harry closes the door and backs Louis further into the room. Louis removes his hands from Harry’s frame to try and navigate them where they need to go without breaking the kiss, and he manages, mostly, but he’s still caught off guard when his legs hit the mattress. 

Harry lets Louis pull him forward by the shirt and moans again when Louis scratches his nails up Harry’s back. 

“Like that?” Louis asks. 

“Yeah,” Harry breathes out, and kisses Louis again, harder this time. He feels like his lips might bruise. He kind of hopes they do. 

They maneuver themselves until Louis is flat on his back, one knee up with just enough room for Harry in between his legs on his unmade bed. Harry’s hands skim up his torso and Louis gasps at the sensation and pressure over his nipples. 

“Like that?” Harry asks this time. 

Louis nods and gasps again as Harry does it twice more. 

“Mmm wanna know everything you like,” he says. 

“You too,” Louis says. 

“I like you,” Harry responds immediately. Louis’ heart soars. 

“I like you, too.” 

Harry smiles and they giggle at each other before Harry pulls back to look down at Louis. He giggles again. “I wanted to kiss you all day.” 

“Wanted you to kiss me all day,” Louis admits. 

“What else do you want?” Harry asks mischievously. 

“Want you to take my shirt off and keep kissing me.” 

Harry doesn’t say anything this time, just gets to work doing exactly that. He runs his hands down the expanse of Louis’ chest, down to his waist and over his hips, then back up again. Louis lets him, and tilts his head to keep kissing, no matter how Harry changes the angles. 

Louis starts to pull off Harry’s top after a few minutes. Harry hesitates, but relents after a minute and helps him get it off. 

“Wow,” Louis says, admiring all the skin and muscle and  _ boy  _ before him. He looks at all his tattoos, runs a hand up along Harry’s abs and thumbs across his nipples. 

“Wow yourself,” Harry says, leaning down to kiss him again. 

Louis feels a buzz on the inside of his left thigh and he giggles at the sensation. “Is that a mobile in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me,” he jokes. 

Harry laughs and runs his hands up Louis’ arms, pushing them up beside his head until he can thread their fingers together. “What do you want, Darling?”

Louis smiles at the pet name. “Want you to keep calling me Darling.”

Harry laughs again. “Yeah, I want that too. My Darling.” 

“Mmm Harry,  _ touch me.”  _

“Where can I touch you?” he asks. 

“Everywhere,” Louis says. 

And so he does. He kisses down Louis’ chest right to his belt and undoes it as he lathes his tongue around the skin there. He lets the belt fall open and he wastes no time unzipping his trousers and palming at Louis’ cock through his pants. 

“Oh god,” Louis moans. 

Harry moans right back as he pulls Louis out of his pants, hooking the band underneath his balls, and truly devastates him by licking all up and down his cock for a full tortuous, teasing minute before wrapping his lips around the head and sucking. Louis sees stars. He tries to arch up into the beautiful suction of Harry’s mouth, but Harry’s got a tight grip on his hips to keep him in place as he causes sparks of pleasure to flood Louis’ body. 

“Ah fuck,” he groans. “Yeah, oh my god, Harry, holy fuck.” 

Harry hums and keeps sucking, starts bobbing his head up and down and alternating with wide licks and swirls with his tongue. His mouth is a vacuum. A fucking magic vacuum. And if Louis was a different man, he would be trying to hold off his orgasm longer, but all he can think about is the plushness of Harry and his smile and the way his back is rippling as he watches him try to suck Louis’ brain out through his cock. 

“I’m gonna, Harry fuck, I’m gonna…”

Harry’s hands move up so he can thumb along Louis’ nipples again as he moans around him. 

Louis screams as he comes. An actual scream that he has to muffle by shoving the side of his hand into his mouth. And then he’s sobbing out as he comes down from his orgasm, as Harry continues with gentle sucks of the head and little kitten licks. 

Louis is panting when Harry finally releases his cock from his magic vacuum mouth. “Fuck,” he laughs. “What the fuck was that?”

Harry tucks him back into his pants and shuffles so he’s hovering over Louis again. He smiles down at him. 

“Did you have a good time?”

If Louis had more strength, he’d smack Harry over the head. As it is, he only has enough energy for one more physical task right now, and since he has to choose just one…

Louis pushes Harry over so he’s the one lying on his back now. He moves so his knees are between Harry’s legs as he leans down to kiss him. At the last second, Harry tilts away and says, “You don’t have to—”

“Harry,” Louis says, before he can say something dumb. “If you don’t let me kiss you right this minute I’m going knee you in the balls.”

Harry smiles and tilts his head up for a kiss and Louis dives into it. He can taste his release on Harry’s lips, and it tastes like everything Louis ever wanted. 

Now, don’t get him wrong, it still tastes like come, but it’s dirty and satisfying and Louis lives for the sound Harry makes when Louis licks into his mouth. 

Louis’ hand moves down and rubs Harry through his jeans. “Can I?” he asks. 

“Yeah, yeah, fuck yeah.”

“Is that a yes?” Louis asks. 

Harry laughs and shakes his head. “It’s all fun once you’ve come, isn’t it?”

“Mmm,” Louis hums, kissing him again. “You wanna find out?”

He opens the button and unzips Harry’s jeans quickly. “Yeah,” Harry says. “Please.”

He’s just about to take him out of his pants when he feels vibration again. 

Harry huffs in frustration and takes his mobile out and whips it across the room. Louis vaguely recognizes the sound of it hitting the wall before falling on a pile of his clothes. He laughs and palms at Harry before tugging his jeans and pants down to the top of his thighs, as far as they’ll go in this position. 

Louis makes eye contact as he pulls back to lick his hand, and then wraps it around Harry’s (very impressive) length.

“Fuck yeah,” Harry moans. Louis starts a steady rhythm, continuing to kiss Harry and scratch at his scalp while Harry runs his hands over Louis’ body. 

After a few minutes, Harry starts thrusting up into Louis’ hold and Louis takes that as his cue to start pumping faster. 

Harry starts babbling and murmuring filthy things. Louis blushes and moves his hand faster, squeezing tighter as he brings his hand up, all the way until Harry shouts and starts coming all over Louis’ fingers and down his own abdomen. 

Louis works him through it, trying to prolong his orgasm as much as he can, and kisses him again, sweet and sloppy as Harry sighs. 

“Fuck,” he says. He tilts his head up for another kiss. “Think that’s the best orgasm I’ve ever had,” he says. 

Louis giggles. “Mine too.” 

Louis removes his hand from Harry and spreads his fingers to look at the come there. There’s so much of it. 

“Just a warning,” Harry says, “if you lick that, I’m going to have no choice but to go down on you again.” 

Louis laughs. “As if that’s a problem.”

“It is if we want to make it to the fair before dusk.”

Louis sits back, still holding his hand out so he doesn’t get come on his bedsheets or Harry’s clothes. “And why would we want to do that?”

“Because I can’t think of a better end to the day than watching the sunset with you.”

Louis smiles down at him and nods. “Come’s not really in my top 10 favourite flavours anyway.”

He gets up and picks up a dirty t-shirt from the floor so he can wipe the come off his hand. Before he does that, he makes sure Harry is turned around grabbing his mobile before sucking some of it off his thumb, just to have a bit of Harry inside of him. God, love is making him sappy. 

Louis stops mid swipe of his hand and stares straight ahead. 

He has to laugh at himself. Love. No, what’s he thinking? It’s only been a few hours. That’s mad. 

That’s mad, right?

Louis tries not to think about it as he pulls on a comfy green jumper and his second best jeans before they leave his flat with Louis’ arm around Harry’s waist and Harry’s arm around his shoulders. 

The street fair is corny. It’s got lots of games and a few rides and many different kinds of sickening-sounding food. All of which Harry wants to try. 

So Louis buys them a candy apple loaded with sweets and roast pork on top of chips and fairy floss in three different colors and something called pink lemonade to share, and Harry drags them over to a patch of grass on the closest hill to watch the sunset. 

Louis feeds Harry some fairy floss and then kisses him to taste the sugar from his tongue. Louis isn’t sure if he’s ever felt this happy. They spend ages snogging in the grass before Louis pulls them up to go back to the festivities. Harry slings his arm around Louis’ shoulders again as he buys them tickets to play games and go on rides and Louis blushes.

Eventually, the buzzing in Harry’s pocket is getting very hard to ignore, and Harry sighs as he takes it out. Louis keeps on playing ring toss and tries not to listen as Harry answers his mobile. 

“Hullo?” A long pause. “Yeah, sorry, I just got caught up and— no I know, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Erm, yeah. I think… No. No. Yes. Yeah, alright.” Harry pulls the mobile away from his ear and turns to Louis. “Hey Lou?” Louis feels butterflies at the nickname. He turns to look at him. “I’m really sorry, but I’ve got to meet someone really quick. I’ll be back, I promise.” 

“Oh,” Louis says. “Yeah, alright. Should I…?”

Harry nods. “Wait here for me. I’ll come find you.” 

Louis smiles and nods a little dreamily at the idea of someone to find him. Finally, someone to find him. 

Harry beams at him, hands him the rest of the tickets, and turns around. Louis hears him say, “Mitch, this is different,” before walking out of earshot. 

Louis stares after him for a long minute before turning back and throwing his last ring. It sinks down on a bottle and Louis is going to take that as a sign. He picks out a little stuffed frog with a crown on top of its head to give to Harry when he comes back. 

He wanders over to another row of games. He hugs the frog to his chest and keeps on walking and daydreaming of what life will be like now. Will Harry move up here after he finishes uni in a few weeks? Maybe get a flat nearby. Maybe Louis could get him a job at Fireproof. 

Christ. He’s diving headfirst into these thoughts and he doesn’t even know what Harry wants. Maybe this is just a day for him. Maybe he’s thinking that it’s just a nice memory to have before he goes off and really starts his life. 

It makes Louis panic. 

He’s wandering aimlessly around the street fair having spiraling thoughts about a boy he’s known…  _ only 12 hours. _ Christ. Louis checks his mobile and realizes it’s been nearly an hour since Harry left. 

He’s not coming back, Louis thinks. He’s not coming back. That was their goodbye. Louis didn’t even get to kiss him. God fuck, the boy he’s only known 12 hours isn’t coming back and Louis feels like he’s going to cry over it. He didn’t even get to kiss him goodbye. Fuck. 

Another twenty minutes passes and Louis must look like a lunatic, pacing back and forth across the length of the fair, clutching a stupid plush frog to his chest. He’s an idiot. He’s an absolute moron. Of course Harry’s not coming back, why would he? What does Louis have to offer?

And suddenly it’s nearing midnight, and Louis thinks about the fireworks the blue-haired worker told them about and he feels a sinking feeling in his stomach. If Harry’s not here by then, that means their day is truly over. That it was just a nice slice of time together. That there’s nothing more. Louis decides he’ll watch the fireworks on his own before going home and crying. He’ll let himself cry tonight, but not any more than that. He didn’t know him, really. 

Even the thought feels like a lie.

Louis heads back on over to their patch of grass at 11:55pm. And sits, looking up at the sky. 

He sighs at 11:57pm and feels one tear slide down his cheek. Yeah, okay, he can start now. It’s dark and no one can see him anyway. Yeah this is fine, really. 

“Darling!” He hears shouted, and Louis cringes. It’s probably not for him, he thinks. Probably for someone else who’s really in love. 

In love. Fuck. 

But he hears it again, “Darling, I’m so sorry,” and Harry’s coming into view, running up the little hill on his left side. He looks exhausted, breathing heavily, but he’s smiling. He sits right beside Louis, grabs his face and kisses him as the first firework goes off in the sky and Louis can’t do anything but sob into his mouth. 

“Oh, oh Darling, I’m so sorry,” Harry says, wiping his tears away. “I realized I forgot to get your number and then I was running longer than expected so I couldn’t even text.” He looks exasperated. “But I’m here now. I’m sorry.”

They kiss again and Louis wills himself to stop crying. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m crying,” Louis says. And it’s a lie, but Harry doesn’t need to know that. 

“Shh,” Harry says, and then meanuvers himself around so that Louis is leaning his back against Harry’s chest with Harry’s legs on either side of his body. He wraps his arms around Louis and kisses the side of his neck. 

Louis stretches it out for him, for easier access, and Harry hums as he kisses it some more.

“You like this?” Harry asks. 

“Yeah,” Louis breathes. “Like feeling you around me.” 

He can feel Harry’s smile against his skin. Then he nods. “Yeah. Yeah me too.”

They watch the fireworks, and then stay in the patch of grass a little longer, rocking back and forth into each other. 

Louis is feeling giddy, now that Harry’s back. Everything is light in his chest and he’s got a boy around him and in his arms. He feels free. 

“Let’s do something crazy,” Louis says suddenly. 

“Like what?” Harry says. 

“Like… I don’t know, buy something each of us has always wanted but thought was too expensive or go get drunk and sing karaoke in a shitty bar or get a nipple piercing.”

Harry laughs. “A nipple piercing?”

Louis shrugs. “Or another kind of piercing.” 

Harry hums. “How about something like that, but a little different?”

They grin at each other. 

Twenty minutes later, they’re standing in the front of the first tattoo parlor they can find, looking through books and along the walls. 

“What’re you going to get?” Louis asks.

“Your name in big letters across my forehead.”

Louis laughs and shoves him, turning away to hide his blush. 

“What are you gonna get?” Harry asks him back. 

Louis shrugs. “Not sure.” 

An artist calls him back, and he’s still not quite sure, so the tattooer (Johnny) pulls out another book and lets Louis flip through it. Almost immediately, Louis sees something he likes and points to it. Johnny nods and gets to work. 

Thirty minutes later and Louis’ got his jumper back on and grinning madly at Harry. There’s an ache over his chest, but a good one. Harry tries to wheedle it out of him, but Louis is dead-set on only showing him once they’ve both had theirs done. Harry’s called back shortly after and Louis spends over an hour on his mobile, texting Niall (who decided to head home from the pubs early in favour of sleep). 

It’s just past 2am when Harry comes back out, smiling at him. 

“Let me see,” Louis demands. 

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” Harry says with a devilish grin. 

Louis giggles and tugs down his jumper to show off his collarbones and the new  _ It Is What It Is  _ inked there, covered in a clear plastic wrap. 

Harry looks at it in awe as he raises up his own shirt to reveal a plastic-wrapped butterfly at the top of his belly. The same one inked in Johnny’s book just below the script Louis now has on his body.

Louis guffaws. “You did that on purpose!” he shouts. 

“I did not!” Harry laughs. “I was going to get a tarot card but then he showed me his book and I knew I wanted it.” 

Louis beams and says, “Well. Guess it was just meant to be then.”

Harry beams back and whispers, “Yes.”

They giggle all the way to a park around the corner and go on the slide and the swings and climb on monkey bars. Louis feels like a kid again, so full of energy, so full of… 

Yeah, who’s Louis kidding. This is love. 

They talk about their dreams and their hopes. Harry tells Louis all about his mates —Zayn with the sharp wit and Mitch with the incredible passion— and his family —his lovely-sounding mum, and his anxious-sounding sister— and his first thought is  _ I can’t wait to meet them.  _ They play-act fake scenarios and make jokes and spend too much time kissing. 

(Just enough time kissing.)

At 5am, they wander across a bridge, and watch the sunrise. Louis holds Harry in his arms this time and nuzzles into his neck, leaning in too much so he feels the ache of the skin around his new tattoo, but he doesn’t really mind. Doesn’t mind at all, actually, when he’s got someone this lovely to turn to him and smile like he does. 

The sun is creeping up into the sky, casting pinks and oranges all along the horizon when Harry turns around in his arms and places his forearms on Louis’ shoulders. 

“Darling,” he says, looking nervous. 

“Yeah?”

“I… I don’t know how...” he starts.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“I’m scared,” he says. 

Louis takes a small step back, but Harry doesn’t let him go any further than that. “It’s not bad,” he continues. “I don’t think it’s bad. It’s good. I think it’s good.”

Louis moves up and cups Harry’s face in his hands. “What is it, Love?”

Harry nuzzles into Louis’ hands and stares this unblinking stare right into his eyes. Louis has never felt more seen and it scares the fuck out of him. It also feels better than anything he’s ever known. 

“I… I think maybe I’m… I really, really like you. More than really, really like, maybe, actually.” 

Louis’ brain goes blank. He’d been so worried about feeling these things himself, he didn’t think Harry could ever feel the same.

“And I don’t want to pressure you,” Harry rushes to say. “I just. I needed you to know.”

“That you more than really, really like me?” Louis asks. 

Harry nods. 

“Harry,” Louis sighs. And because he doesn’t have the guts to tell Harry how hard he’s fallen for him already  — after less than a day — Louis smashes his mouth onto Harry’s. Immediately, he feels a smile pressed against him. They snog for ages, there on that bridge, as the sun starts a new day. 

Around 6am they tear themselves apart enough to start walking down the road. They come upon a little diner and pop inside for breakfast. 

They sit on the same side of the booth because Harry is apparently a monster who can’t stop kissing Louis for even a minute. 

Harry is his favourite kind of monster. 

“So I was thinking,” Louis says into Harry’s mouth. “That we could go back to my place after this.”

“Yeah?” Harry asks. 

“Yeah. Wanna do stuff.”

“Mmm like what?”

“Like stuff to show you how much I like you.”

“I like the sound of that,” Harry says. 

And Louis has to kiss him extra hard for that. 

“Will you order me a coffee?” Harry asks after another few moments, in between more kisses. “I just have to pop to the loo.” 

Louis nods, but it takes another full minute for Harry to pull himself away. It’s the best. 

Louis sighs and watches him walk away. Like an idiot. A love-sick idiot. He sighs again and tries to look at the menu in front of him.

“What can I get you, dear?” 

Louis looks up to see a waitress at their table. She’s got her hair in a messy bun at the top of her head and deep set eyes that say she’s seen everything there is to see in this place. Louis feels a little less bad for making out so aggressively in her section. 

“Two coffees, please,” Louis says, smiling up at her. He’s not usually one for coffee, but he’s feeling really tired, and expects he will continue to feel really tired, since he has every intention of staying up for several more hours absolutely  _ wrecking  _ Harry. 

She nods and turns away, leaving Louis to look at the customer directly opposite him, reading a newspaper. He turns away, but then does a double take. 

On the front page, there’s someone who looks the spitting image of Harry. The boy’s got an arm around a girl outside of a club, it looks like, and his other hand seems to be adjusting the crotch of his pants. 

Louis reads the title of the article:  _ Prince Harry Styles’ Big Night Out: Has our prince been naughty? _

He blinks a few times and looks at the boy in the picture again. He’s wearing the same clothes Harry was wearing. Is still wearing. The tartan scarf hung loosely around his neck. 

Harry Styles. Prince Harry Styles. The image of Harry’s uni ID flashes in his mind. And so does the name, again, resounded in his head with phrases like “new prince heads off to university” and “a flirty young man with a charming smile.” 

Louis closes his eyes and breathes. 

A moment later, Harry comes back out, still smiling at him. 

“Hey Louis, what do you say we just go straight to your place?” he asks, not even bothering to slide back into the booth, but offering his hand instead to help Louis up. 

Louis looks down at the little plush frog with the crown he set on the table, which seems to be mocking him now. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Louis says, still looking at the frog. 

“Oh,” Harry says. He lets his hand drop. “I can explain,” he says. 

Louis scoffs a little. “Sure.”

“No, I can,” Harry insists. And it looks like he’s going to sit down —trap Louis in the booth— so Louis slides out and stands up. The same paper is lying face up on the table beside them, so Louis grabs it and turns it around to him. Harry looks at it hard and then back up into Louis’ eyes. “I can explain,” he says again.

“Okay,” Louis says. And he says it with a hard edge to his voice, but his heart is pounding, and with every beat it begs that Harry has a good explanation. That it’s not what it looks like. That maybe it’s not even him. 

Prince Harry Styles of England. Prince Harry Styles who obviously fucked a girl the same night, just hours after he was with Louis. 

Fuck. 

Harry’s just looking at him. Looks like he’s grappling for words. Which is not a good sign. Louis’ heart falls further. “I didn’t want to lie to you, but I just didn’t know how to tell you.”

Wow.

“Wow,” Louis says, and he turns to leave. Harry tries to grab at his elbow, but Louis wretches himself away and near-screams, “Don’t touch me.”

Harry drops his hands but follows Louis closely as he rushes out of the diner. 

“Louis, please, let's go back to your flat and I’ll explain it all.”

“Ha,” Louis laughs. “You think that’s how this is going to go? You think you can get into my flat and into my pants and then just leave when you’ve decided you’ve had your fun? Yeah, no, that’s not how this works.”

“Of course not, Lou. Please, I can explain, I can explain it all to you, I promise and it’ll all make sense.”

“Fuck off,” Louis says, walking faster now. God where the fuck even are they.

“I love you,” Harry shouts. Louis’ heart races, pounding so hard all of a sudden it feels like it’s going to burst right out of his chest and bounce around on the pavement. 

And Louis is starting to cry. “Fuck off,” he says again. 

“I can explain.”

“I don’t want to hear it anymore.” 

“Lou, Darling, please I’ve never felt this way with anyone in my whole life, please let’s go someplace just us! I’ll get a hotel room if you don’t want to go to your flat, and we can just talk. Please, please, I love you.”

“You don’t love me,” Louis spits out. He obviously doesn’t. Obviously. Not if he left Louis alone at a street fair to fuck someone else. 

“I do!”

“You don’t.”

“Harry,” someone calls out from behind them, and it shocks Louis enough to stop walking. Harry bumps into him as they turn to look.

There’s a handsome bloke calling out to him from a black car a few feet away. He’s got a slight build and a serious looking face. “Your Highness,” he says now, with biting emphasis, “Paul is on his way and he’s raging. we need to go.”

“Just a minute, Mitch, fuck.” Harry looks back at Louis with fear and urgency in his eyes. “Louis,” Harry says. Begs. 

“Get away from me,” Louis says, not sure if he actually means it now that Harry actually has a means of leaving. 

Harry looks at him, and he looks sad. But he tries to reach out for Louis again, and Louis flinches on instinct from the pain of it. Harry pulls back and backs his way to the car. “I’ll come back,” Harry says. 

“Don’t bother,” Louis answers, “I never want to see you again.”

And he takes off, running this time, to get as far away as fast as he can. 

It hurts, is the thing. It hurts to run like this when he’s crying so hard, when all the air is being ripped out of his lungs. When he finally stops, he feels empty. Totally and completely empty. 


	9. Chapter 9

Louis finds himself outside of Up All Night at the end of his run. And, yeah, he hasn’t got his wallet, but he’s in desperate need of a drink or a dance or just something to get him out of his head. So he gets in the very short queue and is let into the club almost immediately. 

It’s early —not even 9pm yet— so there aren’t very many people here. There’s absolutely no one on the dancefloor, but there is a small group at the bar. Louis makes a beeline for it, and finds an empty stool easily. 

The lilac-haired bartender from last week is here again. She stands in front of him and puts a coaster down on the bar as she asks, “What can I get for you?” 

“Vodka redbull, please. And a shot of tequila.” 

She nods and starts making his drinks. A minute later she places them in front of him and says, “Would you like to start a tab?”

He winces and looks down at his drinks and then back up at her. “Okay, uh, hear me out,” and before he’s gotten the sentence all the way out, she looks suspicious. Fair enough. “My name is Louis Tomlinson, and I’m currently working for the royal family. For the Prince. And I left there kind of abruptly tonight, so I haven’t got any money on me, but I desperately need this drink, and I promise with my entire life I will come back tomorrow first thing and pay twice what the tab is, plus the whole bill again as a tip in thanks.” 

Lilac-bob’s face gives nothing away. “You got any proof of all of that?”

“So,” Louis says, “here’s the thing. I left literally everything important at the palace.”

She looks totally unimpressed now. 

“And believe me, I know how that sounds, I do, but you’ve got to know that I am telling the truth, and the only reason I’m here now, begging you to let me have these drinks, is because if I don’t I will go insane and will possible collapse right here in a breakdown.”

She looks at him like that’s not her problem. 

“Okay, that’s fair enough,” Louis says, as if she’d actually spoken. “Let’s see… these shoes are quite expensive,” he says, looking down at his feet. “I could leave them here so you make sure I come back.”

“You want to leave used shoes as collateral for a bar tab?”

Louis just looks at her, and realizes how absolutely bonkers he sounds. He’s about to admit defeat and leave when he hears, “I’ll cover him.”

Louis looks up and to the left, right into the eyes of Gorgeous Bartender. Louis gives him a small smile and looks back to lilac-bob just in time to see her roll her eyes and walk away. 

“Thank you,” Louis says. 

Gorgeous Bartender then grabs another shot glass and pours what Louis thinks might be rum into it. He holds it out, and Louis clinks his little shot glass against it in cheers before shooting it back. 

Louis sighs and looks at the bottom of the empty glass. 

“Another?”

Louis looks up and Gorgeous Bartender is already half reaching for the bottle of tequila with a question on his face. Louis nods and his shot glass gets refilled. Gorgeous Bartender does the same. Glasses clink, they shoot it back, and then bring their empties down to the bar again. 

“Better or worse?” Gorgeous Bartender asks. 

Louis shrugs and thinks about it for a moment before saying, “I truly don’t know.”

The other man laughs and clears their little glasses away. Louis takes a sip of his drink before he’s in front of him again. 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Does he? He can’t, not really, but does he want to?

Louis sighs. “I don’t know that either.”

Gorgeous Bartender smiles kindly at him. Louis huffs and lets his head fall forward and it smacks a little too hard against the bar. Louis groans. “I’m so angry,” he says. 

There’s a beat and then a “huh” that causes Louis to lift his head just enough to narrow his eyes at Gorgeous Bartender. “What?” he asks. 

He shrugs and says, “Seems more like you’re sad-drinking than angry-drinking.”

“I can do both,” Louis insists, “I am of a man of many talents.”

Gorgeous Bartender smiles. “I bet you are.” 

Louis sighs. “Listen, if you’re flirting with me right now, I’ll have to ask you to stop,” he says. “Literally, if this were any other night —if it was any other  _ hour— _ I would be chuffed and flirt right back, but I just… I can’t. I can’t right now.” Louis sighs again and takes a sip of his drink. “And if you weren’t flirting with me, I’m going to need a dozen more drinks to get over the embarrassment of assuming you were flirting with me.” 

Gorgeous Bartender laughs. “Whatever you need, just let me know. I’ve got you covered. And I was, for the record. Flirting with you.” 

Louis smiles down into his glass. “Thank you.”

“Nothing to thank, mate. You’re stunning, I would have been a fool not to try.”

Louis takes another drink and giggles. Then he clears his throat because he didn’t mean to do that. Gorgeous Bartender walks away and Louis sits in his feelings. His five years of feelings. 

Five years of mastering a poker face when hearing his name. Five years of not speaking a word about him, not even a passing “hm”. Five years of pretending Prince Harry Edward Styles of England didn’t exist. Because he didn’t. Not in Louis’ world, anyway.

God, he’d almost forgotten how much it hurt. He’d gotten so good at pretending with Harry; pretending that he wasn’t the same boy that bought him a silly drink and dragged him to an oddly-specific museum, and kissed him so well it was like Louis was made just to be kissed like that. He’d gotten so good at pretending he wasn’t still heartbroken. That he didn’t fall back into it the very moment he set eyes on Harry again, who’d beamed at him that day like he did that first day years ago. 

Louis feels the prickle of tears in his eyes again and no. He will not fucking cry at a fucking nightclub on a fucking Sunday night. He won’t. 

He tries to think of other things. Of anything else. But his mind keeps pulling him back to that day, and the days just after. The flowers and the fruit baskets and the packages, all signed simply ‘Love, H’ and sent to both his office and his flat. One was even delivered to his childhood home in Doncaster. Louis’d really had a hard time explaining that one to his mum. They’d stopped after a few days, once Louis sent the palace a (fake) cease and desist. Louis can’t remember if he’d felt more grateful or more disappointed. 

Before he knows it, his drink is empty, and Gorgeous Bartender is already pouring him another. 

“He’s just,” Louis starts. “He’s just… he’s just so fucking annoying, you know?” he asks. And he doesn’t know why, but he’s actually looking for an answer. Some confirmation that someone else in this world doesn’t think Harry is all charm and brightness (even if he is). 

Louis doesn’t think Gorgeous Bartender knows who he’s talking about, but he nods anyway. 

“Like he never listens to me. Never. And then he thinks he can just tell me he loves me and it makes it okay? I’m not an idiot.”

Gorgeous Bartender looks a little confused now and then looks around as he says, “One sec, I’ve just got to serve a couple of people and I’ll be back.”

Louis looks up and sees the club is a lot fuller now. There’s a small group on the dancefloor and the bar is all lined up. At least it’ll be easy to get lost in the crowd a bit. Maybe lose himself well enough that he truly won't exist anymore, and he won’t actually have to deal with this. 

Taking another sip of his drink, he starts to bob his head to the music as someone comes up right beside him. Louis leans a little further to his left, out of the way so the person can make it fully to the bar, but then the person moves with him. Annoyed, Louis looks up to see a bloke about the same height as him with big brown eyes and light brown hair smiling at him. 

“Looks like you’re getting a little low, there. Can I buy you a drink?” he asks. 

Louis tries to smile, but he’s pretty sure he fails. “That’s a very nice offer, but I just want to be by myself tonight.”

“Ah, come on, just one drink. Whatever you’d like,” the man says, throwing Louis a wink. Harry sometimes winks at him like that. 

Louis shakes his head again, both in answer and to snap himself the fuck out of it. “No, thank you.”

“I’m a really nice guy,” the bloke says. Still talking to Louis. Even after two nos. Louis widens his eyes at his drink and shakes his head some more. “You should give me a chance.”

“I’m sure you are—”

“Brandon,” he supplies, even though Louis didn’t ask. 

“Cool. I’m sure you are a nice guy, but I really don’t want anyone’s company tonight. Thanks.”

“Is it because I’m not good-looking enough?”

“Jesus, mate, I’ve said no three times now, and very politely,” Louis says to him, making eye-contact so there’s no misinterpretation. “Please leave me alone.”

“I’ve got a really nice car and a really nice flat. You should let me show you.”

Louis takes a deep breath in and turns partially in his seat. “Mate, I need you to take this as a lesson on how to be an appropriate human being, yeah? If someone says no, they mean no. I don’t know what rock you’ve been living under, but that’s been a standard for  _ at least _ a few years now.” 

“You’re hot when you’re angry.” 

Harry thinks so too. 

Motherfucker. 

“Okay, you can fuck off now.”

And of course now is the moment the dude starts listening. “Fuck off? Did you seriously just tell me to fuck off? All I wanted to do was buy you a drink.”

“That’s clearly not all you wanted to do,” Louis argues, “because if it was then you would have left when I said no the first time. Instead you keep fucking pushing and pull a nice guy routine to try and garner some sympathy. I’m all out of sympathy tonight, arsehole! So stop being a fucking dickward to strangers at the bar.”

He feels a hand on his shoulder and he truly starts to rage. He shoves the arm off of him. And when the bloke comes back, there’s fire in his eyes, and Louis knows he’s about to get punched in the face. 

Except before he can, Gorgeous Bartender is rounding on him and shoving the bloke face first down onto the bar top, holding him with one hand in his hair and one hand holding his arm around his back. It’s kind of erotic. Or, well, it would be if it weren’t some absolute creep pinned down. 

“You’re going to leave, right now,” Gorgeous Bartender says, “so you don’t bother anyone else. And you’re never going to come back here. Do you understand?” The bloke grumbles until Gorgeous Bartender shoves him back into the bar again, harder. “I said, do you understand?”

“Yes,” the bloke spits out. 

“Good.” And then Gorgeous Bartender is pulling him up off the bar and pushing him into the hands of a security guard to get escort him out of the building. 

Gorgeous Bartender watches him go before turning back to Louis. “You okay?”

Louis feels like crying again. “Why do all dudes suck?”

Gorgeous Bartender laughs. “Sorry.”

Louis laughs a little, too, as a few tears slip down his cheeks. “God, a week ago I would have been thrilled to be hit on. Fuck a week ago I was literally trying to hit on  _ you.”  _

He laughs again and pats a hand on Louis’ shoulder. “It’s alright, mate. Sometimes we have shit a week.” 

“Shit five years,” Louis mutters to himself, but Gorgeous Bartender clearly hears because his eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline. And then he’s pulling Louis in for a hug, and Louis sobs a little on his shoulder. But then he realizes where he is and what he’s doing and he shoves Gorgeous Bartender away, probably a little too aggressively for someone who’s just trying to help him, but it’s on instinct. 

“Sorry,” Louis says. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” he says, smiling at Louis. “Maybe I should call you a ca—”

But before he can finish the sentence, there’s a blur of black and orange and Gorgeous Bartender is being socked in the jaw. 

Louis is stunned and he vaguely recognizes people back away and shout before he’s able to narrow his focus on Harry before him, looking like he wants to punch Gorgeous Bartender again. 

“How fucking dare you!” Harry’s shouting. “You’re an  _ arsehole,  _ Zayn!” He shoves at him.

Gorgeous Bartender straightens up and holds his jaw and looks murderous. “Haz, if you’ve broken my jaw, I’ll end you.”

“You fucking know how I feel about him,” Harry’s still shouting, totally ignoring Gorgeous Bartender. Louis oddly enough feels some sort of sick relief knowing it’s not just Louis he ignores. “Fucking putting the moves him like you have any right!” 

Gorgeous Bartender looks like he’s going to say something else, but Louis is fuming. 

_ “Excuse me?”  _ he says. And Harry finally looks at him, panting heavily with fists clenched at his side. His eyes go a little softer when they land on Louis. “Like  _ you  _ have any right! Going around, punching people like you’re some sort of  _ hero  _ in this story. Fuck you.”

“He was clearly—”

“You don’t know what he was  _ clearly  _ doing, Harry, so fuck the fuck off.”

Somewhere in that sentence, Harry realizes Louis is talking to him, and the anger falls from his face and it turns pleading. “Darling, please, I’ll get down on my knees and beg, but please, please let’s talk.”

“No,” Louis says and he turns back to the bar to chug his drink as fast as he can. When he sets it down (aggressively) he turns to Gorgeous Bartender, who’s finally pulled his hands away from his face to reveal an angry red mark along his jaw. “I’ll come by tomorrow and pay the tab. I’m truly sorry for the inconvenience.” 

But before he can walk away, Gorgeous Bartender has a firm grip on his upper arm and says, “Listen mate, I don’t know if you leaving right now is a good idea.”

“Don’t touch me,” Louis says at the same time that Harry tries to rip the hand off of his arm. 

“Stop!” Gorgeous Bartender shouts. “Both of you stop right now. Do you realize how much of a scene you’re causing?” Louis looks around then and notices people with their mobiles out, taking pictures and maybe filming this and Louis’ face goes beat red, he knows it, but when he looks at Harry, he looks like he’s got no shame. Of course he doesn’t. “Let’s go to the employee room. Fuck’s sake.”

He leads the way and Louis follows, but only because he doesn’t want to chance being caught in more pictures. Harry follows closely behind, even putting a hand on the small of Louis’ back, as if to guide him, which Louis promptly shoves away and scowls as he whispers, “Don't touch me.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry pleads. Louis just shakes his head. 

They walk through a door which leads to a hallway. Louis thinks he sees a sign at the end of the hall for “Office” before they stop at one labeled “Employee Room.”

Gorgeous Bartender opens the door and gestures for Harry to go in. “I need to speak to Louis for a minute,” he says. And Louis is a little stunned to realize Gorgeous Bartender knows his name. Harry looks ready to rage but Gorgeous Bartender scoffs at him, “Honestly, take a good hard look at yourself mate, who do you think I am?”

And Louis doesn’t expect it to work, but suddenly it does as he watches Harry go from murder-face to sad-puppy-face. He walks into the room without another word and Gorgeous Bartender closes it behind him so it’s just him and Louis out in the hall. 

Gorgeous Bartender doesn’t turn to Louis immediately. He waits a moment, and then says to the door, “Sit down, Harry.”

Louis hears some mumbling and then shuffling noises further from the door. 

Gorgeous Bartender looks over to Louis finally and moves to the opposite side of the hallway to get some more distance between them and the door. “So, Louis,” he says, “wish I was meeting you under different circumstances, but it’s nice to meet you all the same.” 

He does a little wave. And Louis is… confused.

“Sorry, should I know you?”

He glances at the door across from them and looks thoroughly unimpressed. “Thanks, Hazza,” he says to it. And then, back to Louis, “I’m Zayn, Harry’s mate. Known him since we were like 8.”

And that name does sound familiar, but it feels like a lifetime ago. Louis scrunches up his face as he thinks. “Are you the one that does the graffiti?”

“I like to think of it as art, but yeah I tag from time-to-time.”

Louis nods slowly.

“And I wanted to apologize for flirting earlier. I didn’t know you were him.”

“You didn’t know I was me?” Louis asks. 

Zayn just nods, like that makes any sense. “Only saw one picture, but I’ve seen it enough. It’s been his bloody mobile background for years. And anyway, your face is kind of turned in it.”

He’s absolutely mad. Everyone in this city is mad. “Okay, well, as lovely as this chat has been, I think it’s time for me to go.”

Zayn laughs. “Oh, no, you’re going in there to talk to him.”

“No I’m not.”

“Yeah, you are.”

“Just because he wants me to do something doesn’t mean—”

“Not for him,” Zayn says, cutting him off. “For you. And don’t even tell me you don’t need to talk about it, because you came to a club without any of your things and sat at the bar crying for an hour.”

“Wasn’t crying the whole time,” Louis mumbles. 

Zayn smirks and nods at the door. God he really doesn’t want to do this. Louis sighs and turns to it. 

“There’s a good lad,” Zayn says, pats him on the back twice, and then turns to walk away, back through the door they came. 

He feels too sober for this. He’s had four drinks but the whole altercation at the bar felt like it drained all the alcohol out of him. God he wishes he could take another shot before doing this. 

Louis could make a run for it. Count to twenty and then sneak out the door. Zayn wouldn’t be able to catch him, he’s much too fast, and by the time they grabbed a car Louis would be long gone. 

But... fuck he really needs to do this, doesn’t he? He sighs again and opens the door. 

Harry is pacing, but stops abruptly when he hears the door and sees Louis come in. He’s breathing hard and looks out behind Louis, maybe to see what firing squad forced him in there. But there’s no one. It’s just Louis, ready to put his broken heart on the table for Harry to see and to stomp on. Anything that comes of it can’t feel worse than he already does. 

He can’t believe he’s finally doing this. 

Louis shuts the door and stands with his arms straight by his side. “I’m ready,” he says, straight to Harry. “Let’s talk.”

Harry looks at the door over Louis’ shoulder again, eyebrows furrowed, then back to Louis. “What did Zayn say?”

“Something weird about a picture, but does that matter?”

“What did he say to make you change your mind?”

Will Louis ever stop sighing? “He made me realize I need to have this talk for myself.”

“Okay,” Harry says. 

“Okay,” Louis says. 

And then they stare at each other. 

“Well?” Louis asks. And Harry just stares at him some more. “Jesus,” he says on a laugh. “You chase me here, wanting to talk, and then you won’t even actually talk! What’s the point.”

“Don’t go,” Harry whispers.

“I’m not going to go,” Louis says. “But if you don’t say something, I’m going to start talking, and I might not let you talk after that.” 

“Okay, okay,” Harry says. Louis looks at him expectantly. He looks like he’s gearing up to run a race. After a half minute, he says (whines), “I’m trying.”

“Why is it so hard to start?” Louis asks. 

A pause. “Because you’ll look at me differently,” Harry answers. 

And Louis full-on laughs at that. “And is it worse than how I’m looking at you now?”

Harry shrugs, like it just may be. 

“Fucking hell. Do I even want to hear this?”

And then Harry blurts out, “I do it for my sister.”

And of all the things Harry could have said… what?

“What?”

Harry takes a deep breath. “Gemma’s always been smarter than me. More compassionate. More politically minded. We both went to uni for politics, but it comes so naturally to her, and she loves it.” Harry shrugs a little. “I love it too, but it’s not the same.” 

Louis nods, because sure. And Gemma is getting ready to take on the highest responsibility at the end of this very week, that makes sense. But what…

“The articles started coming out when I was only just eighteen, when I first moved to the palace. Mum and Gemma hadn’t even started talking about it yet, but everyone was writing these things about how Gemma would make an awful Queen. That she was too nervous and too empathetic and not moderate enough like my mum, and a lot of people didn’t like that.” 

Another deep breath. “So they started looking at me. Saying that I would be a better fit. And it’s bullshit, truly, it is, because there is no one better set to lead this country than Gemma.”

Louis nods, both because he agrees and because he wants Harry to continue. 

“It didn’t really take hold until the press started figuring out my mum was actually proposing stepping down early. But they got a little ruthless. Said I was like them, but stronger, and more clear-headed. And I was flattered, for a bit, even when I didn’t agree. But it really just comes down to sexism, doesn’t it? I’m a man, so of course I would be better.” Harry is shaking his head, looks a little disgusted even saying the words out loud. 

“Okay,” Louis says. 

Harry looks back up at him like he doesn’t know how to finish what he’s trying to say. 

“Simon was my PR manager, way back then. I told him what I was thinking. I wanted help to put an end to that talk, really make it strong that I believed in my sister. And he said the only true way to get myself out of the paper as a qualified candidate for the crown in the people’s eyes was to present myself as someone the people wouldn’t want on the throne, but also not someone truly bad, so that no one would disown me or anything. Something that would polarize people. Equal parts praise and denounce.”

Louis furrows his eyebrows. He feels like either Harry’s so close to just saying it or Louis’ so close to connecting the dots. 

Harry looks a little helpless, but he continues. “He set me up on a lot of dates with people in other social circles. They got some press out of it and so did I. But after a couple of years, it didn’t seem like dates were enough, so he said I should… I should do more than date. That I should lean into what we were doing… using them.”

Louis clenches his jaw as it all clicks. Harry’s PR specialist told him to be a slag to make himself look less desirable for a position of power. 

Harry looks pleading now. Like he knows Louis’ got it. “The… the day we met... it was the first day we really went in on that tactic. I’m not sure if you remember, but I had to leave you for a bit. I had to go to a club that night.” Louis clenches his jaw tighter, and then his fists.  _ Like he could forget.  _

“I’d snuck away from them. I got in a lot of trouble, but Mitch helped me — just to get some time to myself, you know? I never really had time to myself. And then… and then I met you, and realized I didn’t want time to myself when I could have time with you.” He ends on a whisper. Like any louder will cause Louis to shatter. 

It might cause him to shatter anyway. 

Louis feels the tears prickle at his eyes and he tries to speak calmly. “I’m sorry you were taken advantage of that way,” he says. “Someone who’s in control of your image should have never even suggested it.” 

Harry nods, like Louis is finally understanding. “By the time Simon got promoted to head of the PR board, I just… no one else understood. They said I was being ridiculous, so I just…. got my own dates. Did my own thing.”

Louis laughs, bewildered. “Yeah, Harry. And they were right, you are being ridiculous!”

Harry just keeps nodding, like he’ll do anything as long as Louis agrees. 

“So you get it?” Harry asks. 

“Yeah, Harry, I get it.”

“I haven’t meant to cause you so much hard work. It’s just… I have to. They’re still on about it. I have to.”

Louis is shaking his head. “You don’t, though, Harry. You really don’t. There are other ways to handle your political image, ways we can frame the questions that make it a hundred percent clear that that is not what you’re after.”

Harry looks uneasy. Like he’s heard it before, like he doesn’t believe it. 

“Gemma is going to be crowned at the end of the week. She will be the Queen of England, and there’s nothing those people can do about it anyway. But you’ve got to stop leaning into this image because it’s only going to hurt both of you now.”

Louis looks at Harry, at the way he seems so close to tears, and the way he looks like he’s lost and just needs help to find his way. 

“You can do it. It’ll be hard to stop those impulses but it’s going to be better in the long run. I believe in you, Harry.”

Harry lets out a broken cry and rushes towards Louis, collapsing in his arms. “No one’ssaid that to me in so many years,” he confesses, crying on Louis’ shoulder. And Louis holds back his own tears as he hugs him through it. 

After a couple of minutes, Harry stops crying enough to pull back and look at Louis, bringing a hand to cup his jaw. And then he closes his eyes, leaning in to try and kiss him. 

“Harry,” Louis says in soft warning. Harry blinks his eyes open and pulls back. 

“But I—”

“You had your chance to talk, now it’s my turn.” 

Harry pulls back full then, and he nods. Louis gestures to a chair on the opposite side of the room, and Harry goes to sit there, folding his hands in his lap and looking up Louis expectantly. 

Louis takes a deep breath and it hurts. It hurts already. It hurts his heart and it hurts his pride and it hurts whatever semblance of dignity Louis has left in his body. 

“That day with you was the best day of my life,” Louis says. And Harry starts to smile, but when Louis shakes his head it fades away. “I’d never felt like that with anyone before. Never felt so open and free and just like myself pretty much the entire time. And all day… the entire day I kept feeling this thing. And I kept telling myself it wasn’t… real feelings… because I’d only known you for a few hours, but it kept coming up and coming up and by the time you left me at the street fair I knew. I couldn’t admit it to myself, but I was in too deep. And when I thought you weren’t coming back, it was like the entire world was falling apart.”

Louis clears his throat to get rid of the crack in there. 

“And as happy as I was when you came back for the fireworks, I really wish you hadn’t.”

Harry looks a little shocked and a lot hurt. 

“Because I still hadn’t admitted it to myself yet,” Louis says. “I still was just thinking it’d been a great day with a great guy and I was hurting, but I could make it through. Could pretend you got lost trying to come back or maybe you were kidnapped and I could pine over you. I don’t know. Stupid things. Things that didn’t hurt as bad as when I found out what actually happened.” 

Harry looks shocked and hurt and confused. 

“When you found me again, all my feelings just hit me straight upside the head. I was completely gone for you. But if I’m honest, I was gone for you the minute you tried to prove you could handle all that spicy curry at lunch.”

Harry lets out a little watery laugh, like he might start crying again. Louis feels the same, but he powers through. 

“I wish you hadn’t come back. I really wish you hadn’t said you felt something. It all just felt like a lie, and that hurt more than it would have if I’d just never seen you again. If I’d picked up the paper one day and recognized you, and thought ‘Oh, that’s why’ and I would have been able to move on better. Move on at all.” Louis lets out an empty laugh. “God, it’s so pathetic that I haven’t moved on.” He shakes his head and doesn’t look at Harry. 

“And maybe it would have been different if I found out in waves. But to see you were the Prince and then that you’d… well. Actually I’m not sure it would have helped, if I’m honest.”

“What?” Harry asks. The sound of his voice causes Louis’ heart to jump, like it missed the sound of it in only those few minutes. God, he’s so pathetic, isn’t he? Still full of feelings for someone that ripped his heart in two. “What did I do?” Harry asks. 

“We don’t have to talk about it, Harry,” Louis sighs. 

“We do, because I have no idea what you mean.”

And, wow. It may have been five years, but it’s hard to forget sleeping with two people on the same night, isn’t it? Or… well, Louis guesses not for Prince Harry Styles. 

Louis swallows, because this’ll be the most embarrassing bit. “When I saw the picture… god fuck, I’m going to sound like a psycho… when I saw you with that girl I just, I just broke inside. That you would do that to me. That you would sleep with someone else that same day. And I know, I know it was only a day, and we weren’t exclusive, obviously, and we hadn’t even talked about any of that yet, but it just fucking hurt so much that I clearly wasn’t enough, that I didn’t please you enough that you had to leave and get it elsewhere. And I kept thinking I should have gone down on you, instead. Or fucked you, or let you fuck me, or rode you seven ways to Sunday and kept you locked up in my flat so there wouldn’t have even been an  _ opportunity  _ for you to cheat on me.” 

Louis laughs manically at himself then. “And it wasn’t even cheating! Because we weren’t together! And it sounds so fucking pathetic to say it like that, I know, But it did, it felt like you cheated on me, and it broke me. It broke me.”

Louis lets out a little sob and when he brings his hands to his face he feels his cheeks are damp and the tears just keep flowing. There is some relief, too, though, at finally letting it out. At finally admitting what he’s kept bottled up for so long. 

“I didn’t cheat on you,” Harry says.

Louis nods miserably. “I know, Harry.”

“No, I didn’t cheat on you.”

Louis shakes his head and pulls his hands down to glare at him. Harry’s smiling. That motherfucker is smiling, like he thinks this is funny. Louis just cut his heart open and bled all his secrets onto the floor, and he has the audacity to laugh at him. Louis feels his face scrunch up as he gets ready to  _ roar  _ at him but Harry immediately is shaking his head and crying as well and scooping Louis into his arms. 

He pushes and tries to get out of the hold, but Harry’s too strong and Louis is so tired and Harry’s just cry-laughing and Louis’ already broken so what’s the use in fighting. 

“I didn’t sleep with anyone else that night Louis, I was only with you,” Harry cries into his hair. 

“I saw the picture, Harry,” Louis says, feeling the weight of it all seep into his skin, pull him down. 

“I came out of the club with a girl because Simon told me to. I don’t even know who she was. We just walked out of the club and got into a car. We drove two blocks and then I had them stop and I ran back to you, Louis. I ran as fast as I could, I couldn’t wait to come back to you.”

“What?” Louis asks. That can’t be. 

“All this time,” Harry says, ignoring him. “All this time I thought you were mad that I didn’t tell you who I was. I thought you were mad about the money and the power.”

“What,” Louis says again.

“Fuck, all this time I thought it was who I was, not something you thought I’d done. And I just wanted you to see me. See me like you did that day. Oh god, Louis, I’ve fucking loved you for so many years.”

“You didn’t?” Louis asks. 

“I didn’t,” Harry agrees. 

“But the picture—”

“I have no idea what that picture was, Darling, but it wasn’t what you thought. I would have never. Never. I loved you from the minute you started explaining the Greek pantheon after thirty minutes at that cafe together.” 

Louis chokes out another sob. “You did?”

“I did.”

“It wasn’t weird?”

“It was very weird. But I loved it so much. Loved you. Love you so much.”

Louis feels embarrassment flood his body. How he’d pushed away. Just assumed. Was the cause of his own broken heart. 

Louis spends the next five minutes sobbing in Harry’s arms as Harry just holds him, rubs soothingly up and down his back, clutches at him as they stand in the middle of an employee break room at a nightclub after five years of hurting. 

“Why were you that way?” Louis says, pulling at the collar of Harry’s shirt as he does. “Why did you come onto me so much, even when I said no?.”

Harry sighs. “When you wouldn’t talk to me about it, I just. It’s all I knew how to do, you know?” Louis feels him shrug. “I don’t know if I ever would have stopped. I tried to make sure you weren’t uncomfortable with how I was acting. Well,” he laughs a little, “too uncomfortable, anyway. I might have pushed a little too far at some points. Sorry for that.”

Louis shakes his head. “But I just said no over and over again. Why did you keep trying? You could have stopped. Should have. I would have just stopped.” 

He can feel Harry smile against the side of his head. He shrugs. “Dunno. I could tell you were still attracted to me. Figured eventually you’d just like, sleep with me and see how good I was at it and we’d just keep doing it.”

Louis pulls his eyebrows together and scoffs in disbelief. “Just keep doing it? Until fucking what?”

Harry shrugs again. “Until you stayed. Until you realized that I meant it.”

“Stayed? Harold, I’ve got a life to get back to. In what world did you think that would work?”

“One where I’ve been thinking about you nonstop every day for five years, hoping you thought of me, too.”

Louis sucks in a breath. And for the second time in his life, his brain goes blank. He pulls away a little, just enough to look up at Harry, whose eyes are red and face is blotchy from all the crying, but he’s smiling so wide. Looks so happy. Louis feels another wave of guilt. He caused Harry to be so unhappy all these years. 

Harry shushes him, like he can read Louis’ thoughts. “None of that, Darling.” 

Darling.

He never wants to stop being Harry’s Darling. 

“Can we go?” Louis asks. 

Harry looks like that’s all he’s ever wanted to hear Louis say. “Anywhere. We can go anywhere you want, I’ll go anywhere with you.”

“Home,” Louis says. “Take me home.” 

Harry pulls his mobile out of his pocket, and only looks away from Louis long enough to dial a number. 

“Mitch,” he says after a few seconds, looking right into Louis’ eyes, pulling him in closer by the waist. “I’m on my way back. Yeah, I’ll call when I’m inside.”

Harry hangs up and pulls Louis along out the door of the employee room, arm still around his waist. Louis clutches around Harry’s middle right until they make it through the hall and to the back door — the same exit they made last time they were both here. 

Before they slink out the door, Harry says, “I’m going to let go of you now, Darling, but I don’t want to.” So Louis nods and lets go of his death grip around Harry as Harry pulls his arm away. And boy does he look unhappy about it. Louis likes that. 

Harry leads him back around the building to a black Ford Fiesta, which is odd because it doesn’t seem like Harry’s style, but Louis doesn’t question it. 

No one else is out. It feels kind of surreal, like they are just two kids, sneaking out to spend time together and not… well, not them. 

Once they’re inside the car, something pops into Louis’ head. “How did you find me?”

Harry looks over at him and sort of shrugs. “At first I thought maybe you’d have gone to my pub, but I was halfway there and I knew that wasn’t it. I just knew you’d come here.”

Louis scoffs. “You did not.”

“I did.”

“I didn’t even know I was coming here, how could you?”

Harry just shrugs again. “I don’t know, Lou, I just thought about you and how you get when you’re stressed out —mostly from me, I’ll admit that— and I just figured you’d’ve wanted some place to drink or dance or something. I don’t know.”

Louis thinks on that for a few seconds. Harry knew. He knew because he obviously knows Louis better than Louis knows himself. Fucker.

He leans over the center console and pulls Harry into a desperate kiss, gripping at his neck and shoulder as Harry returns it, just as desperate. It’s so good. Kissing Harry is like nothing else. He can’t believe he survived for five years without it.

Harry’s mobile buzzes in his pocket, and Louis pulls away to laugh hard at that, at the memory of the same thing happening that first time. Harry keeps a hand on Louis’ face as he reaches for his mobile, and keeps kissing him until he looks down at his screen. 

He laughs and then shows it to Louis. 

Zayn (10:29pm):  _ Yous better not be fucking in there _

Louis laughs too and kisses him again. Harry clicks the home button and is pulling his mobile away but Louis stops him, grabbing his wrist and bringing it closer so he can look. 

It’s him. The background of Harry’s mobile is  _ Louis _ . Louis remembers Zayn saying it just minutes ago but...

It’s Louis. 23 years old, in the dark grey suit with a loosened tie hanging around his neck, turned away from the camera. He’s in profile, looking up at a bright red bus and smiling, eyes crinkled at the corners and hand a little out by his side. 

Louis looks into Harry’s eyes, and Harry’s just looking at him like Louis is the embodiment of all the love in the world. Fuck. 

“Take me home,” Louis says again, and he’s never seen Harry move faster; Louis isn’t even fully seated again before the car is moving. 

Louis’ body feels like it’s on fire. Harry keeps looking over at him, like Louis might disappear if he doesn’t confirm that he’s there every second. It makes his heart rabbit in his chest. 

Harry parks down the road from the palace. He locks the car and pulls Louis along by the hand quickly around the side and they go through two sets of key-protected gates. Once they reach the palace building, they go to a door that looks like it’s broken, but Harry punches in a digital passcode and it opens up. Quickly, he starts pulling Louis up a set of stairs. 

Louis’ never been to this part of the palace before. It’s a little creepy, all dark and sort of murky with its creaky steps and dark red paint along the walls, but Harry seems comfortable here, so he figures it’s safe. When they reach a landing just in front of a newer-looking door, Harry stops. He pulls out his mobile and dials Mitch’s number again, lets it ring twice and then hangs up. 

“This is how you sneak out?” Louis whispers. 

Harry grins and nods. He whispers back, “Mitch installed the keypad lock, and the staff know about it, but they all think it's for something different. Security thinks it for landscaping, landscaping thinks its kitchen storage, kitchen staff think it’s for the guards and so on.”

There’s buzzing in Harry’s hand as he looks down and opens a message from Mitch. 

Mitch (10:41pm): _ 1x2 = 1 _

Louis scrunches his face at the message and Harry just giggles at him. “One person in the hall. I should wait 2 minutes. I’ll probably have one minute to get to the hall where no one spots us.”

“Quite the code you’ve got,” Louis says. 

“Have to have something if I want to do anything on my own. My mobile transcripts go to the financial office through the bills, and they’re snitches down there.”

“Do you know how dangerous that is, Harry? Like—”

“I know, I know,” Harry cuts him off. “I don’t do it often, I promise. This is only the second time I’ve done it since you’ve been here, and before that it’d been months.”

The mobile buzzes again. 

Mitch (10:42pm):  _ &? _

Harry blushes. 

Harry (10:42pm):  _ L ! _

Louis feels warm inside. He’s pretty sure he’s cracked that one. 

“C’mon,” Harry says, opening the door and pulling Louis through it. It closes softly behind them, and Harry hurries them along, both trying to be quiet. 

When they make it inside Harry’s room they let out a collective breath and then laugh together. There’s a heated moment of eye-contact before they’re on each other again, snogging their way into the room. 

Harry’s hands move down, palming over Louis’ bum before tugging at the backs of his thighs until Louis jumps and wraps his legs around Harry’s waist. 

“Gonna make you feel so good,” Harry murmurs. Louis’ heart takes off, beating wildly. “Gonna give you anything you want.”

Louis moans a little, licking at the corner of Harry’s mouth once before smiling. “What if I want to make  _ you  _ feel good? Give you anything  _ you  _ want?”

“You’re everything I want.” And before Louis has time to respond, his back is hitting the bed and he can’t help but let out a bit of a laugh. “I love you,” Harry says and immediately attacks Louis’ mouth. 

He kisses his way along Louis’ jaw and down his neck, and then back up the other side. “What do you want?” he whispers into his ear. 

Louis shivers. “Whatever you want,” he whispers back. 

“Don’t want to stop kissing you,” Harry answers easily. “Want to keep looking at you and kissing you and have you here in my bed with me always.” 

“Harry,” Louis moans. 

Harry moans back at it, inches Louis’ jumper up his abdomen until Louis gets impatient, tears it off and whips it off the side of the bed. 

For a moment, Harry just stares at the expanse of Louis’s chest. It goes on long enough that Louis starts to feel self-conscious until Harry says, “My God, look at you. You’re amazing.”

A shocked gasp forces its way out of Louis without his say-so, and immediately he goes red from embarrassment. Harry doesn’t seem to notice or mind, too busy tracing his  _ It Is What It Is  _ tattoo with his pointer finger. 

“I’ve only seen it twice. And you covered up so quickly in your room a few days ago, I’m not sure it counts.”

“It’s just a tattoo,” Louis says logically, even if it sounds weak to his own ears. 

Finally, Harry makes eye-contact again and says seriously, “It’s not.”

And Louis can’t bare to hear whatever poetic, likely romantic thing that will come out of his mouth, so he pushes himself up until they’re kissing again. They snog for a while, and Louis makes slow work of unbuttoning that awful orange floral shirt that he’s decided he loves. Eventually he gets it undone and off of Harry and throws it in the same direction he threw his own jumper. 

He runs his hands along Harry’s abs. “Why are you so fucking hot?”

“Could ask you the same,” Harry says. 

Louis laughs, because it’s silly. Louis knows he looks good, but he’s not anything like the beautiful man above him. 

“Lou, do you even realize how sexy you are?” Harry asks, still hovering over Louis’ body. “It’s all I can do sometimes not to push you against every wall and feel you up under those suits. Always wanna rip your clothes off. Wanna do it even more when you make that disapproving face at me. Makes me want to show you how good I can be for you.”

Louis cock twitches. “Get on your back,” he orders. 

Harry rolls over quickly and Louis follows so he’s hovering over Harry now. 

“Is that what you want? You want to be good for me?”

Harry nods, just staring up at him. “I’ll be good for you from now on. However you want.”

Louis has to lean down and snog him a bit for that, but he also starts unbuttoning Harry’s jeans and pulls down his zipper. He palms at his clothed cock and Louis can feel it thicken even more under his ministrations. 

“How do you want to be good for me now?” Louis mumbles, moving over Harry’s member achingly slow now. “Would you lie still as I rode you? Would you keep your hands to yourself as I used you to get off?”

Harry moans and tries to kiss Louis again, but Louis pulls back so he can’t. 

“Or should I suck you off, nice and slow; tease you for ages before I let you come?”

Harry whimpers and moves his hands up to clutch at the bedsheets beside his head. It gives Louis a gorgeous view of his biceps as they flex against the duvet. 

“Or would you want me to fuck you? Get you all full of me. Let you feel how much I’ve missed your body.”

“Lou,” Harry moans. 

“What do you want, Harry?” Louis moves his hand away from Harry’s cock and slides up over his abdomen and nipple and neck until his fingers thread through his long curly hair. “You’ve got to tell me how you want it. Because this body deserves to have everything it wants, doesn’t it?”

Harry bucks his hips up to find some friction as he says, “Fuck. Would you? Would you fuck me?”

“Of course,” Louis agrees. He nips at Harry’s plush bottom lip before kissing him hard, pushing Harry’s jeans down further on his legs. 

He pulls back far enough to get the jeans off of Harry’s body. 

“You got stuff?”

Harry nods and looks to his bedside locker. “Bought new stuff when I heard it was you coming down from Manchester.”

Louis blushes but tries to ignore it as he opens the drawer and finds a half-empty bottle of lube and an unwrapped pack of condoms. Louis raises an eyebrow at him. 

Harry blushes and looks down at himself as he says, “I, erm, might have opened the lube once or twice.”

Louis looks at the lube again, at how much is missing. “Once or twice?”

Harry shrugs and grins sheepishly. “Once or twice a day since you’ve been here.”

Louis groans and hurries back to the bed with the bottle and the whole box. “You can’t just say things like that, Harold.” He settles between Harry’s thighs and grinds down. 

“Sure I can, especially if it’s gonna have this effect on you.” And then he fits those massive hands around Louis’ arse to help create friction at their groins. 

After a minute, Harry pushes the waistband of Louis’ joggers down to his thighs before grabbing his bum again. “Love your arse.”

“So you’ve said.”

“So I’ve meant.”

They’re breathing heavily now and Harry seems to be getting restless. 

“C’mon,” he says and he slides one hand around to palm at Louis’ cock through his pants. “God, I want you inside of me.”

Louis doesn’t have anything clever to say to that, brain short circuiting at the pointed pressure on one of the most sensitive parts of him. “Yeah, yeah okay.”

He peels Harry’s pants off of him, grabbing his socks along the way. Harry giggles when Louis’ fingers brush against the bottom of his feet and he makes a mental note of that. He wants to find out all of the things that Harry likes. 

Getting his fingers inside of Harry takes a bit longer than anticipated, because Louis keeps getting distracted by all of Harry’s tattoos and the sheer amount of skin he’s exposed to. He stops every few seconds to admire him, to look at the artwork, to nibble along his inner thigh or in the V at his hips or the plushness over the hard muscle of his abs. 

Harry lets him. Moans at it. Threads his fingers through Louis’ hair but doesn’t push him anywhere. Just lets him take his time going over whatever bit of skin catches his attention next. He keeps his face at his lower half and just gets his mouth over every bit of him he can. 

Finally, Louis opens the lube, pours some over his fingers and circles them around Harry’s rim. Harry throws his head back and gets a grip on Louis’ hair as he moans. 

“Yeah?” Louis asks. 

But Harry isn’t able to respond before Louis is pushing in with one finger slowly. He licks a stripe up Harry’s balls as he starts moving in and out and is fascinated by the way Harry’s cock twitches almost violently. He does it again. And then licks from his balls all the way up his shaft as he adds a second finger. 

It doesn’t take long for Louis to find his prostate, and when he does it feels like a spark of electricity zaps Harry’s body. He goes rigid and his grip gets so tight on Louis’ roots that Louis thinks he’s made him come already. But then Harry breathes out, panting hard as he relaxed. 

“You can’t do that for long,” Harry says, “or I’m going to come.”

“What if I want you to come?”

“I want to come with you inside me.”

“I am inside you,” Louis says cheekily, moving his fingers quickly over his prostate so there’s almost a vibrating pressure. 

“Oh god, oh fuck, oh,  _ LouLouLou.” _

Louis removes the pressure and Harry lets out a big breath that nearly turns into a sob at the end. 

“Wanted you. Wanted you for so long. Wanna feel you coming inside. Need to see your face. Please, please let me see your face when I come.”

Louis is nodding, even though Harry’s not looking at him. Yeah, he wants that too. Wants to experience what Harry looks like when he comes, again. Wants to see if his eyebrows still pull together and if he lets out a little huff of breath through his nose when he’s about to lose it. 

He pulls away and stands to the side of the bed in order to get his pants off. Harry is looking at him, lazily stroking his cock and licking his lips. “So beautiful,” he thinks he hears Harry murmur. 

Louis gets back on the bed and reaches for the box of condoms. Harry’s hand moves from his own cock to Louis’ as he strokes and twists his hand. It’s a little wet, like maybe Harry licked his palm or maybe from the precome. Louis thrusts shallowly into his grip at the thought of that. Then he remembers he was doing something and he finishes unwrapping the box and grabbing a condom out of it. 

He drops the box unceremoniously off the side of the bed. As he rips open the condom wrapper, Harry’s hand speeds up along Louis’ cock. 

“Fuck, Harry,” Louis says, thrusting a few more times before grabbing Harry’s wrist, tugging it away. 

Louis rolls the condom down over himself and is just about to line up when he looks at Harry who’s looking… uneasy. 

“What?” Louis says. “What’s wrong?”

Harry bites his lip again and trails a palm up one of Louis’ arms. 

“I want this,” Harry says, “But I— I’ve never done this.”

Louis pulls back a bit further. “You’ve never done what? Had sex?”

Harry shakes his head. “No, no, I’ve had sex,” he says. “But I’ve never… I’ve never had someone else inside me. Like, I’ve got a couple of toys but… never an actual cock.” 

“No?” Louis asks. 

Harry shakes his head again, looking a little sheepish. “I was waiting. I was… fuck it sounds so dumb, but I was saving it. And it’s stupid because I know it doesn’t make it any less no matter how many times you’ve done something but… I don’t know.”

Louis nods, because while he doesn’t get it, he understands. 

“But you want to do it now?” Louis asks. “Because we can do something else, Love, and I’d be just as thrilled.” 

Harry finally smiles up at him. “No I— I was waiting. For you.” 

Louis’ heart beats faster than it ever has. Harry’s being so open and vulnerable, legs spread and ready to do something with Louis he’s never done before. Ready to do something he’s been waiting to do with Louis. 

He wants to say something profound. He wants to tell Harry how much this means to him, how he’s been waiting for Harry, too, how totally, undeniably gone he is for the stunning image under him. 

The words don’t come, though, all caught in his throat, stopped by the voice in his head telling him not to give everything away all at once. 

Instead he kisses Harry, hard cock pulsing between his thighs and bumping up against Harry’s hip.

“Go slow,” Harry says against his mouth, and Louis nods. He reaches down between them and grabs his cock, lining himself up to Harry’s hole. He gets multiple sensations as he starts to push in. Harry opens his mouth in a gasp, and then lets out a shaky breath against Louis’ face. His hands come to clutch around Louis’ back, fingernails biting into the skin. One of Harry’s feet rub against the back of Louis’ calf, like Louis’ the one who needs to be soothed. 

Louis tries not to think about the feeling of Harry (wet, tight, hot) around him as he pushes himself in slowly. A couple of times he pulls out a little before pushing forward again to create an easier glide, and it causes Harry to arch up into him. 

For his part, Harry is mumbling nonsense as Louis works himself in. Words like  _ fuck, so good, feel you _ over and over again. 

He’s all the way in, and they’re just panting into each others mouths, living in the space between too much and not enough as they each get used to the feeling. 

“Oh god,” Harry says, “move, please.”

So Louis does, slow, sensual drags in and out of Harry as he looks at his face. Harry looks back through hooded eyes and tries to smile, but then Louis jabs at his spot and his mouth turns round. Louis has to kiss him, feel the noise that Harry’s making because of him. 

“Okay?” Louis asks. 

“So good,” Harry says, clutching harder around his back, and moving one of his hands down to dig in at the flesh of Louis’ arse. He starts to hump up as well, working Louis’ cock further inside him. “M’so glad I waited.”

Louis moves his hips faster and Harry lets out a wonderfully high-pitched moan. “Yeah?”

“God, yeah, yeah, please Lou.” 

Louis speeds up his movements as he spits into his hand and moves down to grab hold of Harry’s rock hard cock and jerk him off as they get close. 

It causes Harry to clench down and a spike of pleasure floods Louis’ body. 

“Close,” Harry chokes out. He clenches down again as Louis thumbs over the head of his cock. “Fucking love you,” he mutters, looking right into Louis’ eyes. 

And Louis is a goner. All of a sudden he’s coming, spilling inside the condom inside of Harry, still pumping his hips and jerking Harry’s cock as fast as he was and as he does Harry sobs, clenches again and spills over Louis’ fist. 

There’s a clicking sound and Louis doesn’t realize what it is until Harry has to physically remove Louis’ hand from his cock. 

Louis doesn’t pull out right away, partially because he needs to take a full minute just to kiss Harry as good as he deserves, and partially because Harry has wrapped his legs all the way around Louis’ hips, keeping him snug against Harry’s body. 

“You’re so good,” Louis whispers. 

“You’re the best,” Harry whispers back. 

They start to untangle themselves, and Louis wipes his hand on the side of the bed to get the come off. 

“Hey!” Harry laughs. “Have some respect.”

“Thought I was, didn’t do it in the middle where you’d chance rolling in it.”

Harry brings his hands up to Louis’ neck and pulls him down again, flush against his chest as he kisses his lips and jaw and cheeks. “Wouldn’t be the first time I slept in the load of my come caused by you.” 

Louis laughs. “You’re awful.”

“I know,” Harry laughs back and kisses him some more. 

Finally, Louis is able to pull out and take the condom off, tying it up and throwing it in the bin beside the bed. But now… now he’s not sure what to do. Does he leave? It’s got to be at least midnight by now, and they’ve got an early day. And maybe Harry doesn’t want him here anymore, now that he’s gotten what he wanted out of Louis. 

Before he can truly panic, Harry pulls him back down on top of him and nuzzles into his neck. “Was it okay?” he asks. 

What a stupid question. 

“That’s what I’m supposed to ask you,” Louis says instead. And it makes Harry laugh big and bright, like it’s coming from the core of him. 

“You’re always exactly what I want,” Harry says, blinking up at him. “That was no different.”

Again, Louis wants to say that it was just as great for him, that it was how he dreamed it would be. That Harry is a dream come true. 

Instead he kisses him with lots of tongue, and hopes that says everything it needs to. It seems to, from the way Harry kisses back and grabs hold of him like he’s something important that he never wants to let go of. 

Louis grows sleepy, worn out from his orgasm and such a tumultuous night. He’s felt more emotions over the last few hours than he’s let himself feel in years. Harry must feel it, too, because he rolls over and reaches to turn off the light, and then rolls back to settle himself against Louis’ chest, pulling an arm around him. It’s nice. He feels calm in a way he hasn’t since he’s been here. He feels content.

Louis just holds Harry in his arms with Harry’s back to him and Louis’ left arm on a diagonal over his chest. 

Harry’s scritching light, random patterns along the back of his forearm. He’s been at it for a while, and Louis is mesmerized by the feeling, the way it causes gooseflesh to rise up and then sooth back down by more of Harry’s touches. He must think Louis’ asleep, because he sighs dreamily and starts tracing heart patterns into his skin. 

“Missed you,” Harry whispers, nuzzling further into his hold. And then, even quieter, “Don’t feel so lost anymore.” 

He turns his face and places a feather-light kiss to Louis’ wrist before wrapping his fingers around it. Louis feels Harry’s eyelashes flutter against his pointer finger, and before long his breath turns slow and even. 

For the first time in five years, Louis falls asleep without wondering when he’ll feel whole again. 


	10. Chapter 10

Louis wakes up with his face smashed against Harry’s chest, drooling on him a little. He pulls away slightly to take stock of their bodies.

He’s achy, in that really good way. Like after he’s had a good run or after… exactly what they did last night. They’re facing each other, they’ve got their fingers intertwined on one hand, and Harry’s got the other arm draped over Louis’ waist. He radiates heat. They’ve only got a sheet over their lower halves and Louis finds he’s not cold at all. That’s a nice perk. 

Harry’s snoring pretty loudly and when he breathes out, it rustles the hair on Louis’ head. It makes him want to laugh. God, this is nice. He knows they have a lot to talk about, a seemingly-infinite list of things to figure out, but for now it’s just nice.

Louis just looks up at him for a few moments, taking in his lovely features and all the soft hair around his head. Louis misses the green in his eyes, wishes he could see them. 

Suddenly, as if Harry can hear his thoughts, he stops snoring, scrunches his nose and blinks his eyes open. He looks down to Louis’ and Louis has a brief, insecure moment that Harry will furrow his brows and ask Louis why he’s still here, in his bed. Ask him why he didn’t leave the room after Harry had fallen asleep and laugh when Louis doesn’t know how to answer.

Louis is starting to feel stupid and angry with himself just as Harry beams at him. 

A smile that bright should be reserved for after-tea only, Louis thinks. But he’ll make an exception if it’s coming from Harry, and only if it’s directed at Louis. 

“G’morning,” he says. 

“Morning,” Louis responds. 

And then Harry leans down like he’s going to kiss Louis and Louis squeals. Harry pulls back, concern and fear etched on his face just as Louis brings his unoccupied hand to his mouth. “What?” Harry asks. “What did I do?”

Louis’ eyes widen and he shakes his head. He doesn’t want Harry to think it’s something he’s done. No more of that, not ever again. 

“Morning breath,” Louis answers from behind his hand. 

Harry’s face cracks into a smile again and he laughs. “Is that all?”

“Yes.”

“C’mere.”

“No! Harry!”

Harry kisses the back of Louis’ hand a few times, in lieu of his mouth, which makes Louis giggle. Then he makes a show of kissing with lots of tongue, lathing all over and in between Louis’ fingers while Louis tries to squirm away from it. 

“Harold, that is not very princely behaviour!” 

“Mmm, your hand is so good at this,” Harry says, ignoring him, moaning as his kisses again.

“It’s gonna slap you in a minute; it’s good at that, too.”

“Yeah, give it to me, baby.”

Louis laughs and Harry’s just licking him now, not even pretending that it’s a kiss. 

“There are better places you could be doing that, you know.”

Harry’s eyes flash with heat, his hand slipping down from the middle of Louis’ back to the swell of his bum. And then he’s rolling them over, hovering over Louis’ body, and he can feel where Harry’s half-hard against Louis’ thigh through the sheet. 

“C’mon, Darling, let me at those lips, I need them.”

“You need them?”

“I need them.”

Harry pulls Louis’ hand away by tugging at his wrist. He grabs the other for good measure and holds them down beside Louis’ pillow on the bed. Louis keeps his lips together, but he smiles. Harry’s close enough that his hair is skimming across Louis’ cheeks and neck as Harry stays there, waiting. 

The anticipation builds, Harry just staring at him, licking his lips, smiling, grinding against him every few moments because it probably feels too good not to. Louis knows it does for him. It’s driving him mad. So he says  _ fuck it  _ to the morning breath and lifts his head to smash his lips into Harry’s, and Harry’s taking over it in a second. He grinds down onto Louis’ groin with more purpose until Louis arches up and gasps, opening his mouth enough for Harry to lick inside and moan. Harry’s got awful morning breath as well. Louis thinks he was right, though, because he needed this, too.

“Harry,” Louis gasps again at the feeling. 

“There’s nothing better than my name from your mouth.” 

“I can think of a few better things.”

“Yeah? What that mouth do?” he jokes. 

Louis has to pull away and have a good long laugh about it. Harry doesn’t stop kissing his jaw and neck and chest, and Louis doesn’t stop laughing until Harry takes a nipple in his mouth and sucks. 

“Fuck,” Louis breathes out.

“You wanna know what else  _ my _ mouth does?” Harry asks against the raised bud.

And then Harry is kissing his way down, and Louis prepares for the magic vacuum mouth experience again after so many years without it by looking off to the side and bracing himself. But then his eyes land on the clock on Harry’s bedside locker. 

8:47am. 

“Fuck,” Louis near shouts. 

Harry chuckles, a breath away from Louis’ hardened cock. “I’m better than I remember,” he says. 

“No, Harry, fuck, we’ve got a press conference in thirteen minutes!” 

Harry makes a non-committal sound and licks up his shaft, which causes Louis’ eyes to roll back in his head. “I can get you off in two.”

Arrogant son of a bitch. Louis’ cock twitches at it. “As amazing as that sounds, I’ve got to take a shower and put on my suit and gather my notes. We’re talking about immigration today!”

“Are you really more interested in that than me sucking your cock?”

“Yes, Harry, this is my  _ job _ .” 

“Fuck, you’re so hot.” Harry sucks lightly at the head, then pulls off and rolls over. 

“You’re so mean,” Louis whines. His cock is a very bright red, now, and terribly angry with him. 

Louis gets up and scrambles to find his joggers and jumper he whipped off last night. He’ll worry about pants and trainers later. 

“They’re probably going to bring up the club last night— you did literally punch a man in the face. Someone must’ve caught something on camera. Say it was a misunderstanding you’re working out privately but don’t condone violence and you sincerely apologize to both your friend and the public for that.”

Harry leans on one elbow and watches him hitch up his joggers over his hips. “When we get back, I’m going to ruin you.” 

Louis wants to make a comment about Harry not listening  _ (again)  _ but he’s too distracted by another twitch of his cock.

“Looking forward to it,” he says instead, heading to the bedroom door with his jumper in hand. “Get dressed! Fucking hell.”

Louis pulls on his top and opens the door as softly as he can. He peeks out and doesn’t see anyone, so he leaves the room and pulls the door behind him. The click is too loud, which makes Louis wince, but it seems okay. 

He takes only one step before Paul comes from around the corner, looking right at Louis. He flushes down his entire body. 

“Mr. Tomlinson,” Paul says. And then he looks at Louis’ rumpled clothes and at Harry’s closed door behind him. 

“I just came to wake him up!” Louis rushes to say. 

Paul doesn’t say anything about how Louis’ never done that before. “Very good, Mr. Tomlinson.”

And then Louis nods at him and rushes past on his way to his room. 

Louis takes a very quick (very cold) shower and throws on the first suit he sees in his wardrobe. He’s got the notes, but he’s halfway down to Press Room C when he realizes he forgot to put on a tie. It’s too late now, at 8:58am, to go back for one. He groans frustratedly and continues, making it to the door with one minute to spare. 

Harry’s already there, looking much too put together, considering he and Louis had the same amount of time to get ready. Gross bastard probably didn’t shower, most likely with some nonsense logic like he didn’t want to wash away the night before. He smiles at Louis, looking at him all soft and sweet. God, Louis wants to rip his clothes off. 

He clears his throat instead. “Ready?” he asks. 

“As long as I’ve got you by my side,” he answers. 

Louis rolls his eyes, but he can’t stop his smile, or the lightness he feels in his chest. 

They enter the room and take their places. The cameras are on and reporters are talking over one another immediately. 

Louis leans in towards the mics and says, “Just a reminder, this morning’s press conference is centered around immigration policies and reform. Please keep your questions on topic, thank you.” He leans back and lets Harry settle in at the podium. 

Harry nods at one of the reporters in the front, who’s waving wildly at him. “Yes, Mr. Talbot.”

“Prince Harry, what did you think of the front-page article in the Daily Mail this morning?”

Louis furrows his brows before remembering where he is and schooling his features back. What an odd question. Did the fight in the nightclub make the front page? That seems a little much.

“Erm, I’m not sure, Mr. Talbot, I don’t tend to read the Daily Mail, and definitely not before I’ve had at least three cups of coffee.” There are chuckles throughout the room. “So, I’m sorry I won’t be able to answer that. Next question? Ms. Wilson?”

“I believe Mr. Talbot is talking about the article about you and your PR manager being in a secret relationship. Care to comment?”

Louis automatically takes a sharp breath in, but he does not look at Harry. It’s a dead giveaway. 

Harry unfortunately doesn’t know that, and looks over at Louis, unsure of how to respond. Louis rolls his eyes and leans over to the mics and says, “No offense if any of you are here from the Daily Mail, but the palace does not credit that as a reliable source of news given the multiple past allegations that have been proven false. Also, another reminder that this press conference is for immigration. Please focus your questions around that topic.”

Harry nods and looks back to the group, seemingly more settled. “Mr. Andrews?”

“Thank you, Prince Harry. If not the Daily Mail, how do you respond to the article in The Independent that insinuates you’ve been having relations with Mr. Tomlinson in exchange for a better public opinion?”

Fuck. 

He sees Harry’s hands grip the podium, and Louis leans over again quickly before he can respond. “These rumors have been going on for weeks,” Louis says, “and I’ve denied them every time, so I really do not understand why this is still a topic. Let's move on.”

“Mr. Tomlinson,” someone speaks out from the middle of the group. “How do you respond to the photo of you kissing Prince Harry in a car outside of Up All Night? And was it a good kiss?”

There's a break of laughter and Louis’ feels his world crumble down around him with the sound of it.

He keeps his voice even and his face neutral as he says, “No comment. Does anyone have a question on the immigration policies outlined for the new referendum?”

_ “Mr. Tomlinson, what would you say to The Times article that says you’re after Prince Harry for his money?” _

_ “Mr. Tomlinson, how many times have you had relations with Prince Harry?” _

_ “Mr. Tomlinson, do you have concerns about the Prince’s extensive history with women?” _

_ “Mr. Tomlinson has Prince Harry been cheating on you if you’ve been in a secret relationship this entire time?”  _

Louis’ tries to breathe, tries to think of a way to salvage this, tries to redirect the conversation somewhere,  _ anywhere.  _ But he can’t think of anything. 

“Hey, hey, hey!” Harry shouts, and before Louis realizes he can feel himself shaking his head.  _ ‘Don’t’ _ is on the tip of his tongue, but not quick enough because he hears Harry saying, “It’s not like that, I’ve been in love with him for years!”

Louis closes his eyes in resignation as he hears voices get louder, shouting over each other, all asking what the Prince means, if they’re going to be together now, what the sex is like…

When Louis opens his eyes, Harry’s looking at him, frightened and frozen to his spot. Louis takes a deep breath and says, “This press conference is over, since it seems no one is here to talk about what’s on the agenda. Good day.” 

Louis pulls Harry by the elbow (and he’s sure there will be dozens of photos of it posted online before the hour is up) and shoves him through the door, closing it behind them. 

He wants a moment to himself, to process, but there’s no time. Harry’s immediately saying, “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean— I just didn’t want them thinking you were some cheap throwaway. I just wanted them to know you mean something, and then the cheating question, and I know it’s sensitive—”

“Shh,” Louis says gently. “Just a minute, Harry, please.”

Harry shuts up instantly. 

Louis pulls out his mobile and Googles “Prince Harry Styles” and is immediately flooded with articles about himself, all posted within the last eight hours. 

_ Prince Harry Seeing New PR Manager? _

_ Fist Fight with Friend: How love tore Prince Harry and Zayn Malik apart _

_ Who is Louis Tomlinson?: All you need to know about Prince Harry’s new beau _

There are dozens, and more keep popping up by the minute. 

“Mr. Tomlinson, Prince Harry,” he hears. Simon Cowell is walking towards them and he does not look happy. Louis can’t help but glare at him, since now he knows what he did to Harry. To them. But he pulls that feeling back because now is not the time. “We’ve set up an emergency meeting in the second floor conference room. We need you up there immediately.”

Harry looks at Louis and Louis just nods. Simon turns around and Louis follows him. Harry follows behind, still not speaking a word. When they get there, Simon holds open the door and the two of them walk inside. It closes, and Louis feels like a door in his life is shutting as well. 

Simon walks to the head of the rectangular table to take a seat. On the left there’s Queen Anne, Princess Gemma and Paul. On the right there are other members of the PR team. Louis doesn’t move at all from his space, and neither does Harry. 

Louis braces himself. 

“I’m assuming you both know why we’re here, but I’ll clarify to make sure we’re all on the same page. There are several articles about a relationship between the two of you. Several of those articles have pictures. Prince Harry, since your security team was sure you were in your room, there is the added issue of how you left the palace undetected last night, and we are assuming Mr. Tomlinson is the one who snuck you out, which is detrimental to your safety.” 

Harry is shaking his head and he looks like he’s about to butt in, so Louis reaches over and squeezes his forearm briefly. He can see from his peripheral that Harry looks over and Louis shakes his head. Harry closes his mouth and Louis removes his hand. The table looks around to each other in silent acknowledgement. 

“On top of that, Mr. Tomlinson, it is the assumption of this room that you have been taking advantage of His Highness, seeing as you are in control of his public image and have been operating without supervision for the majority of the last four and a half weeks, since you came highly recommended and we thought you were a professional.”

That’s rich, coming from him, Louis thinks. But he stays quiet. There is nothing to say. 

“Your employment here is terminated, effective immediately. Mr. Higgins will escort you to pack and collect your things.” He nods at Paul, and Paul looks rather sad, Louis thinks. “Do you have anything you’d like to say.”

“No, Mr. Cowell,” Louis says. 

“Very w—”

“It’s my turn,” Harry says. And Louis closes his eyes again and shakes his head. 

“Harry,” Louis starts, tries to say it like a warning, but his voice comes out soft and hurt. 

Harry slides his hand down Louis’ forearm and intertwines their fingers. Louis just lets his hand be held, not bothering to wrap his fingers around Harry’s hand. Louis opens his eyes and sees the whole table looking at their hands anyway.

“We’ve done nothing wrong,” Harry says. “I’ve been sneaking out of the palace since I was 19, without Louis’ help. He has never taken advantage of me, and he has never done anything I didn’t also want to do. And he’s not fired.”

Simon Cowell pulls his lips into a thin line. “He is fired, Your Highness, we’ve already decided. He’s behaved unethically and—” 

“He’s done no such thing,” Harry argues. “We decided, last night, to be together. I love him.” 

Silence. 

Queen Anne folds her hands on the table and the entire room looks to her. “Honey, it’s probably not love you feel. You’ve only known each other for a few weeks.”

“We’ve known each other for five years,” Harry counters. And Queen Anne’s eyebrows shoot up while the rest of the room reacts with their own expressions; Louis even hears a gasp. Yeah, that sounds about right. 

“What do you mean you’ve known each other for five years?” Simon asks. 

“We met five years ago,” Harry answers with a shrug, like it’s not a very strange thing to say. 

“And you’ve kept in contact?”

“No. We didn’t speak for a long time.”

“How long?”

Harry pauses, probably finally realizing how bizarre it is. “About five years.”

Simon laughs, like he’s relieved, like they’re two kids who don’t understand what they’ve said. It makes Louis want to scream. Simon turns serious again. “Right, well, did you know when he was hired?”

“No,” Harry says. “I’ve been following up on his career, but I didn’t think he’d ever come here.”

That bit is a little surprising to Louis, so he chances a glance at Harry, who’s looking resolute and firm. 

“So,” Simon says, “you met five years ago, haven’t spoken in just as long, say you’re in love, and he’s now come to the palace just before your sister —who trusts you very much— is set to take the throne. Do you not find that odd, Your Highness? The timing of it all?”

Louis wants to shout that he didn’t even want to be here in the first place, that he’s not trying to do anything secretive or scandalous, but it would be moot point. 

“I don’t like what you’re implying,” Harry says. 

“Did you know Mr. Tomlinson quit his job before he came here, Your Highness?”

Louis cringes. That does look rather bad when he says it like that. 

But then Harry says, “I did.” And Louis turns to look at him. “He put in his notice three months ago, so I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

How did he know th—

“Did you know that he had a  £20k bonus if he made it the entire five weeks?” Simon asks, cutting off Louis’ thoughts. 

Harry falters. “No,” he says calmly, “but I don’t see how —”

“Do you not think it’s rather suspicious, that you’ve gotten together the last week of his contract? Maybe he thought he could get a bit more than  £20k. Maybe he’s the one who sold you out to the paps.”

Harry falters again and Louis can feel the doubt radiating from him, and that ache in his chest overpowers any murderous thoughts he has towards Simon. 

But then it seems Harry decides to push away his worries, at least for the moment, because he says, “Louis would never. He doesn’t care about money.”

“Do you really believe that?” Simon asks, like he’s stupid if he does.

“Of course I do.”

Since that tactic isn’t working for him, Simon huffs and shakes his head and seems to realize he needs to switch directions. 

“Do you realize the situation you’ve put yourself in?” Simon asks. “He has been working for you for weeks. You have openly expressed your desires for him during press conferences and interviews. You constantly go around making suggestive remarks about your sexuality that absolutely do not help your political image in any way.”

A nice old-school helping of homophobia, a cherry on top of this metaphorical disaster sundae. This is why Louis didn’t say anything about his sexuality when he started; at least he can feel vindicated about that. 

“I don’t see how that is relevant to this situation,” Princess Gemma says, glaring at Simon. 

Simon scoffs and says, “Everything your brother does affects his image, which then affects your image. It’s one thing to be in support of a certain lifestyle and another to live it.” 

“A better thing to live it, I should think,” Princess Gemma says, “to have an in-depth perspective on what those communities are going through so we can better help them.”

She says it with a fire Louis has never seen from her. He’s grateful on Harry’s behalf that he has someone like her on his side. Someone who’ll be leading their country with those ideals, no less. 

“Maybe let’s focus on the topic,” Harry says diplomatically. And Louis thinks that’s a bit ironic. 

“The point is,” Simon says in a huff, “that your image is disastrous as it is, and we can’t risk another thing like this on top of it.” 

“I’ll trade you,” Harry says then. “Let me have this, and I’ll let you use Home and Hope.”

Louis widens his eyes and looks at him, shocked as anything. 

“What does that mean?” Simon asks. 

“I’ve been donating to Home and Hope for nearly five years,” Harry says, making eye contact with each and every person at the table. Louis’ heart beats faster. “Louis inspired me to do it. I’ve got the donation forms and you can check their logs of my visits. If Louis and I can be together, you can exploit the time I’ve spent at Home and Hope whichever way you’d like, I don’t care. That’s my offer.”

The right side of the table huddles and whispers together. Paul doesn’t seem surprised, but that matches up for him. Princess Gemma is a little too busy glaring at Simon to do anything else. Queen Anne is looking confused, just looking at the two of them in front of her. 

“I don’t understand,” Queen Anne says down at her hands. Then she looks at Louis. “Mr. Tomlinson, what do you have to say to all of this?”

He wants to say so many things. Like how Harry’s not who the public think he is, that he’s not who the people in this room think he is. He’s someone gorgeous and caring, and does things because of Louis that make Louis’ heart soar even in this tense situation. He wants to talk about how smart Harry is. How he hasn’t needed practically any coaching on the material because he breathes it, because he cares about the people almost as much as Princess Gemma does. 

He could go on about how he didn’t expect this, how he didn’t want this, about how everyday has been a surprise (often an unpleasant one) but that he wouldn’t change it for anything because it brought him back to Harry. Back to the man he loves. Loves. It’s nice to admit, even just in his own mind. Louis loves Harry. Loves him so much he’d do anything for him. 

And yeah, he wants to say, yeah, it’s mad that they fell for each other so quick, and mad again they both stayed in love all these years, but love is mad. And love is everything. 

He wants to say all of this, wants to say more than all of this, but instead he says, “I quit.” 

The entire table looks up at him, shocked, but none more shocked than Harry beside him. 

“What?” Harry asks. 

And Louis hates lying, but he’s got to. He’s got to for Harry so that he’s not decimated by the press and that the start of Gemma’s reign isn’t soured by him. He’s not worth that. 

So he says, “Listen, last night was fun, but it's done now.”

He doesn’t want to look at him. He doesn’t, but it’ll just confirm he’s lying if he doesn’t, so he looks and masks the pain he feels. He puts on an unaffected, almost amused face. Like it’s kind of funny how Harry thought Louis loved him. 

Funny. 

“You didn’t think this was going to go any further. Did you?”

“Yes,” Harry says emphatically. “And so did you.”

Louis forces out a laugh and feels a stabbing pain in his abdomen. At that moment he realizes Harry’s still got a death grip on his hand, and Louis has to rip it out of his grasp and shove both fists into his pockets. He turns back to the table. “Give me twenty minutes and I’ll be out of your hair. I’ll submit my official resignation when I get home.” 

“Are you really going to let them ruin us?”

“There's nothing to ruin,” Louis says simply. “Not on my part. I’m sorry it had to come out this way. But at least you got your bit of fun in the end, too.”

“We love each other,” Harry says to him. 

And here it comes. The big one. 

He turns to look at Harry again, unimpressed. “Harry, have I ever said I loved you?”

Harry opens his mouth, as if he’s going to object, but nothing comes out. Louis sees the next moment of doubt there. And it hurts. Hurts more than Louis was prepared for it too, but he keeps his face the same and nods, like Harry’s finally gotten it.

But Harry doesn’t crumble. He doesn’t shrink back and look sad. No, he sets his face hard, turning back to the group. “I’ll make a scene,” he says. “At every turn I’ll make a scene.”

“Harry—” Louis scolds. 

“Your Highness, if he wants to leave, we can’t stop him,” Simon says. 

“He’s only leaving because  _ you  _ made him think he has to, just like you made me think making myself less was the only way to make Gemma look stronger.”

“Excuse me?” Simon says, looking offronted. 

“What do you mean, Harry?” Queen Anne asks. 

“That’s enough,” Louis says, stern enough that everyone looks at him. He grits his teeth and looks at Harry. “Don’t take it out on your team because you didn’t get the ending you wanted. You’ve been doing that for five years, and it’s enough now.”

Harry looks truly hurt at that. When Louis looks back over, Simon has a sated, smug expression. The other members of the PR team look confused, and so does Queen Anne, but Princess Gemma is staring at Louis. Hard. 

“It was lovely working with most of you,” Louis says. “Good luck on your coronation, Your Highness. I have no doubt you’ll be an excellent queen, and I look forward to reading all the magnanimous things you do in your career.” Princess Gemma is still looking at him, now with slightly more calculation to it. He’s got to get out of here. 

He doesn’t say goodbye to Harry. He can’t, actually. He just turns and leaves, shutting the door to the room behind him and speed walking to his room. 

He’s never packed so quickly in his life. His suits will be all wrinkled, the way Louis is stuffing them into his bag, but it’s not like he’ll really need them for work anymore, is it? He multitasks and calls Liam, asking for a ride to the train station, and he agrees easily and without any follow up questions. Bless him. 

As he pulls the case shut, a small object flies out of one of the pockets. Louis goes to pick it up and finds something that makes his heart clench. 

A little green and cream-colored toy bus. Louis’ eyes flicker up to its twin on his bedside locker and his heart nearly stops. 

That day of the radio interview, the day Harry waited for Louis in his room, Louis’d taken it off him, thinking Harry had gone through his stuff to find it and to rub his face in it, but… but it was Harry’s all along, wasn’t it? And Louis had taken it from him. Just like he took their small hope of happiness. 

Louis lets out exactly one sob before he pulls himself together, zipping up his suitcase. He goes to get the other toy bus. He really should just leave it, but he wants Harry to have the option of keeping it, wants to make sure it gets to him so he can make that decision. He’s got to say goodbye to Cedric anyway, maybe Cedric will pass it along to Harry. 

Louis’ heart clenches at just the thought of him. Of how he’s broken Harry’s heart. Again. This time knowing exactly what he’s doing and knowing for certain it’s only him to blame for the pain. 

He leaves the room and bids a silent goodbye to it. To the place he and Harry kissed again for the first time after five years. To the room he and Harry fought in for the last time. 

He shoves the thoughts away and makes his way down to the kitchen with his suitcase. He hears Cedric’s voice, but he also hears someone else’s. He steps into the room and instantly, Princess Gemma’s gaze is on him from where she’s sitting at one of the work benches. 

“Ah,” Cedric says nervously.  _ “Mon soleil.” _

“Hi Cedric,” he says. Another zip goes through his heart that he can’t be honest with Cedric about all of this. It’s one thing for him to lie to a room full of the palace PR team and the man he loves for the greater good, but it feels like a whole other thing to lie to his friend. “I just came to say goodbye.”

Princess Gemma looks truly unimpressed as she looks down to a plate in front of her and scoops up another bite of what looks like cheesecake. 

Cedric comes over to him and lowers his voice. “What happened,  _ mon soleil?” _

Louis shakes his head and tries to find a way to say this without making himself look like the worst person in the world. He doesn’t really find one. “Sometimes a masterpiece is a masterpiece,” Louis says. “And sometimes it’s a piece of rubbish.”

Princess Gemma scoffs from her stool. Louis clenches his jaw, but doesn’t turn to look at her. 

Cedric places a hand on his shoulder and rubs it there affectionately. Even now. Louis’ heart aches even more. 

_ “Mon soleil, _ are you sure this is right?”

Louis nods. “He’s driven me mad the entire time I’ve been here. It would have never been sustainable.” And Louis finds he can’t try to half-truth about this any more. It hurts too much. “Anyway, my mate’s coming to drive me to the station, so I’ve got to go.” As if on queue, Louis feels a buzz in his pocket. “Thank you for being so good to me, Cedric. And, erm… will you give this? To him?”

He holds out the little toy bus, trying to shield it from Princess Gemma as he slides it into Cedric’s palm. Cedric looks at it before looking back up at Louis with slightly watery eyes. 

“I wish you so much love,” he says and then kisses Louis square on the mouth. It makes Louis laugh a little, but laughter is a little too close to tears so he shuts it off. 

“Goodbye.” He clears his throat. “Good luck, again, Your Highness.”

“You’re not fooling anyone, you know?” she says. And Louis winces and feels his cheeks heat up. 

“I’m sorry I disappointed you, Your Highness. And I’m sorry this makes you think less of me.”

Princess Gemma just shakes her head and takes another bite. “Two idiots,” she mumbles. 

Louis heads out the back door and is immediately accosted by camera clicks and reporters swarming him, calling out rapid-fire questions. He starts to panic, frozen to the spot before he hears his nickname being called out. 

“Tommo!” Liam shouts again, barreling through the crowd (throwing elbows as he goes, by the looks of it) and pulling Louis along with him. Louis lets himself be shoved into the passenger seat while Liam takes his suitcase and throws it in the back for him before getting in his car and driving off. 

“Fuck’s sake,” Liam mutters, “the press has absolutely no decency, do they?”

Louis shakes his head. “None.”

It’s quiet for a few minutes. “So you didn’t tell me why you needed a ride. And I got here a few minutes early and saw all the reporters…” 

He leaves it hanging for a moment, waiting for Louis to fill in the rest. 

When he doesn’t, Liam continues, “So I searched for Prince Harry, and was a little surprised to see your name pop up so many times.”

“Payno, do you remember that game of Never Have I Ever we played a couple of years ago, when you came up to visit for that week? We were with Niall and Babs and Stan, and drunk off our asses. Do you remember the one you did?”

It’s quiet for a moment, presumably as Liam thinks back on it. They were all fucking sloshed at the end of the night, to be fair, and mostly because Louis’d poured another three rounds of shots for them after that one in hopes they’d forget it. 

“You said _ ‘never have I ever hooked up with someone famous’ _ and I drank. If I’d had less to drink I wouldn’t have, but I did and you all assumed it was that bloke from Game of Thrones we did a bit of PR for but it wasn’t.”

Liam doesn’t say anything, but Louis can tell he’s connected the dots. 

“Guess I was right then,” he says, after a full minute of silence. 

Louis looks over at him, confused. 

“Prince Harry is your type.”

Louis laughs at that. And too quickly it turns into crying. 

“Oh, Lou.”

Louis waves him off and sniffles to try and compose himself. “I’m going to say something, and I need you to not say anything about it ever again. But I need to say it out loud to one person. And since I can’t say it to him, I need to say it to you. Do you promise to never mention it again?”

A pause. “Yes.”

Louis takes a moment to breath in deep, steady his shaky breaths. He looks out the window and he says, “I‘d never be enough for him.”

It’s painful in a way Louis didn’t anticipate, to finally admit it out loud, what he’s been feeling all these years.

Liam silently pulls him in by the shoulders as he continues to drive, and Louis cries into his armpit. The angle is awkward, but the pain in his side from the console feels right. It feels deserved. 

The train station comes into view, and it’s also littered with reporters camped out at it. Louis panics a little, gearing himself up to deal with it, to say “no comment” a hundred times, but Liam drives straight past it. 

Louis pulls himself up in the seat and says, “Liam—”

Liam shakes his head. “I’m not leaving you to that. It’s still early, I have plenty of time to drive back. Or to stay the night if you need me.”

Louis loves Liam so so much. He tells him as much and Liam grins and ruffles his hair. 

“If only you were gay,” Louis sighs mournfully.

“You wouldn’t like me anyway,” Liam says, “I’m too passive for you.”

Louis hums noncommittally. It’s probably true. 

Liam tries to get Louis to talk about his feelings, but Louis promptly shuts it down and changes the subject. They talk more about Liam’s job and the girl, Sophia, he’s  _ officially  _ officially dating now and Louis’ heart switches from empty to full and back again minute-by-minute. He promises to come back down to London in a few months, when his face isn’t in the papers anymore. 

They stop for food. Liam runs inside of a McDonald’s because Louis is terrified to step out and have anyone recognize him. They’re about an hour outside of London now, but the Prince’s fanbase knows no bounds. 

Louis thinks about it too much again as they drive further and suddenly feels like he’s suffocating. Liam takes a detour and finds a secluded park where they get out of the car and play footie for a bit. It helps calm Louis down enough to feel okay again for them to drive. 

Half way through, Louis texts Niall that he quit the job and that he’s sorry for any back-lash this gets him. Louis gets a text back that’s just a couple of x’s, and Louis knows that means Niall’s read the news as well. He’ll deal with that another day. 

The rest of the drive is taken mostly in silence. Every once in a while, Liam reaches a hand over and squeezes Louis’, and Louis appreciates it, but he’s passed his need to be comforted. He just wants to wallow for a bit, in his own flat, where he doesn’t need to leave for anything. He’ll order groceries and take out and have the delivery person leave it outside the door, so they won’t even see him. It’s pathetic, but fitting. 

It’s just past 4pm when they pull up in front of Louis’ flat. He grabs his suitcase and practically fights Louis off when he insists he’s good. 

“Just let me carry your suitcase up, Tommo, fucking hell. I know you’re not useless, but I’ll feel useless if I don’t do this.”

They make their way up the steps and Louis puts the key into his door when he hears a crash from inside. 

Louis freezes and then he hears a loud, familiar,  _ “Fuck off, you feckin’ shitty stove!” _ He looks at Liam who’s smiling knowingly at him.

They go through and make it to the kitchen to see Niall with a frozen pizza in one hand and a screwdriver in the other. 

“What the fuck are you doing, mate?” Louis asks. 

Niall turns around, alarmed, like he didn’t hear them come in, but then relaxes and points to the stove accusatorily. “Your stove is shit.”

“My stove is not shit, it’s practically brand new,” Louis argues. 

“If it’s brand new, why’s it shit?”

“It’s not shit, you just can’t cook to save your life.”

“That’s besides the point.”

They stare at each other for another few seconds before bursting into laughter, and then both go in for a hug. The frozen pizza thwaps against his back before it’s removed, and Louis assumes Liam’s taken it from Niall’s hands. Hopefully the screwdriver as well; Niall gesticulates too much to be trusted with it. 

At some point the hug gets a little less  _ haven’t-seen-you-in-ages _ and a little more  _ are-you-okay-lad  _ and Louis has to pull away before he starts crying again. 

“What are you doing here?” Louis asks.

Niall nods to Liam behind him. “Saw the news this morning. I texted Payno to see when you’d be back and, you know. We just figured we could have a good ole boys night. Whether that’s playing FIFA, eating pizza and not talking about it or listening to Joni Mitchel, ordering Chinese and having a good long cry together, I’ll leave it up to you.”

Louis looks back at Liam who smiles kindly at him and says, “I don’t need to be back until tomorrow night. And even then I could cancel. Here as long as you need me, Lou.”

Lou. 

Louis’ eyes start to tear up at the nickname, and at how lovely his friends are, and he’s not sure which he should be more embarrassed by. 

“Liam,” Niall says, “Go set FIFA up and put on Joni. I’ll ring and order Chinese. Tommo, you decide which order we want to do things in. And also tell me how the fuck to work your shitty stove.”

Louis laughs through the few tears that have started to fall. 

They get the stove working (no screwdriver needed) and put in the pizza. Louis goes to change his clothes as Liam and Niall spend too much time trying to figure out how to work his record player. When he opens his suitcase, he finds the toy his easily and sticks it in his pocket. Just needs a small part of him close. Just for today, and then he’ll let go. 

It turns out Niall also brought some of the good beer they like and loads of the shitty beer they love, so they crack open a few of those while they eat. In fairness, Louis does try playing FIFA, but his heart’s not really in it, and it seems both his mates were expecting that, since they immediately put their controllers down as soon as Louis does. 

He starts out sporadically. Telling them about the club, filling in the gaps Liam didn’t know and explaining it all to Niall. He jumps forward to yesterday (fucking hell, it was only yesterday) to him and Harry getting together. He talks about taking the toy bus from Harry before he realizes he needs to say it all. 

Louis tells them all about their day together all those years ago. About all those feelings.

He tells them about all the hurt he felt and gives another abridged version of making up again. He tells them the reason he took the job.

“When you called me up, Niall and begged me to take this job—” 

“Oi, I didn’t  _ beg.” _

“You begged.”

“I absolutely did not.”

“Niall, just let him.”

“You can’t just let someone  _ anything _ if they’re _ right.” _

“Louis, just go on .”

“Anyway I said no to you. Twice. Because…. But the third time you’d called and said something different that made me say yes.”

They’re both looking at him, waiting. 

Louis takes a deep breath and says, “You said,  _ ‘Ah, well, it is what it is, isn’t it?’ _ ’

Niall looks like something clicks into place for him, and his eyes automatically pan down to the top of Louis’ t-shirt-covered chest. 

“I just heard myself agreeing,” Louis says, “Like it wasn’t a conscious decision, I just said, fine, I’d do it for you, because I was technically jobless and Fireproof had already signed the contract before yous realized no one would touch it —which, you really ought to have, mate, really— but really it just made me think of that day with him. Of being out at 2am and choosing a tattoo that was connected to his even though we didn’t know it. Of getting a physical reminder of being in— my feelings. And I just said yes.” 

Louig laughs. “Even then I thought I was being stupid, but I convinced myself that it wasn’t because of my feelings. It couldn’t have been, because I was over him. I was supposed to have been over him. But I’ve never gotten over him.”

Louis laughs again, sharp and hollow. 

It’s quiet for a full minute and Louis stares at the last slice of pizza on his coffee table. Out of the corner of his eye it looks like Niall and Liam are trying to have a silent conversation, but it fails because there’s too much huffing.

“Louis…” Liam starts, “why  _ did  _ you quit your job, mate?”

Now that’s the question isn’t it. The one that gives him all away. 

“When I left Fireproof,” he says. “It was because I didn’t want to work with products anymore, and that’s the core of the business. Things. I wanted to work with people.”

He looks up and sees them both nodding. He looks away again, pulling his knees up to his chest. 

“The only problem with working with people is that there’re the same examples of what to do and what not to do, and they’re all real, current examples. He was always an example. What not to do.”

Louis turns his head away from them, rests his cheek on his knees so he doesn’t have to look at them. He pulls the toy bus out of his pocket and clutches it in his palm. He focuses his eyes on the front door and breathes. “You weren’t the first person to ask me, Niall. My bosses asked me half a dozen times if I would do it. In fairness, they’d asked all of us, but they asked me more because I was exceptionally good at it. And I said no every time. But it didn’t stop. He was always in the newspapers and magazines around the office, topic of conversation in the breakroom, everywhere.”

Louis holds back a sniffle and wipes his nose on the knee of his joggers surreptitiously.

“I spent years not talking about him. Not even a responding  _ hm  _ and the further I tried to get from it, the closer he got. I just realized I wasn’t happy any more. That I’d never be happy trying to pretend hearing his name and seeing his face and knowing all about his life but never being in it like I wanted didn’t bother me.”

He feels a hand on his back and Louis lets out a little sob. “I don’t want to,” he says, “I don’t. I can’t anymore. I gave him up, I need to let go.”

Niall’s hand starts drawing soothing circles and Louis gets out a shaky breath.

And there’s silence after that, with Niall continuing to rub his back, until there’s a knock at the door. 

Louis hears Liam stand and say, “Must be the Chinese.”

Louis pushes his face in between his knees to dry his tears, to get himself out of this. 

The hand on his back stops moving and then Niall says, “Wait, I never ordered the Chinese.” 

Louis’ eyes pop open and look at the door, just as Liam pulls it open and three men in black suits walk in. They spread out. One comes towards Louis and Niall, scanning the room, pulling back the curtains at the windows and holding up a piece of black equipment that makes a beeping noise every five seconds. The other two take a right and head to the bedrooms, Louis guesses. 

“What the fuck?” Louis says, setting his feet on the floor. 

“Clear,” the closest one to him says. 

“Clear,” he hears, a little more muffled, from the other room. 

“Clear,” he hears again, muffled even more. 

Then Louis sees Paul come through the door frame, followed by a man with slight build and an impressive moustache holding a brown paper bag in his arms. And then there’s Harry, looking up and around the flat before his eyes settle on Louis. 

“Hello,” is all he says. He’s also holding a brown paper bag in his arms. 

“What the fuck,” Louis says again.

Liam is still holding onto the door and looking out into the hall, like more people could come in, before closing it, looking a little bewildered. 

Harry looks down at Louis body, and Louis quickly shoves the toy back in his pocket so he can’t see, and he says, “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to collect you,” he says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. 

_ “Collect me?” _

“Or I’ve come to move in. I brought a suitcase, but I’d be more than happy to have the rest of my things shipped here if that’s what you’ve decided you want. Or we can look at a different place. I know Paul isn’t thrilled with the security here. Kitchen this way?”

And then he turns and walks away like that’s an acceptable thing to do. 

Louis automatically turns to Niall and then to Liam, who look just as shocked, but not nearly as upset as they should be. 

Louis stands from the sofa and storms into the kitchen. The man with the moustache and Harry are now unpacking the bags (full of groceries) and opening the refrigerator and all his cabinets. 

He can’t have Harry here. He gave him up. He gave him up for a reason, to save him from all the nasty, horrible things they’d say, forever and ever, about him and about Gemma. The press would be ruthless, Louis knows that. And he won’t have it. 

“What are you doing?” he asks from the doorway.

“Putting the shopping away,” says Moustache Man. 

“I don’t even know you, mate, why the fuck are you putting shopping away in my flat.”

“Oh,” Moustache Man says, like he’s only just realized. “Sorry, sometimes I forget we’ve never actually met. I’m Mitch. Nice to meet you.”

And then he turns around and holds his hand out like Louis is just going to shake it, like this is normal. 

“I don’t give a fuck, get out of my flat.”

Mitch turns to Harry and smiles.  _ Smiles.  _ “Yeah, we’re gonna get on really well.”

Louis turns to Harry, who’s smiling at Mitch, and says, “Does everyone you know have to follow your lead and ignore me? Is that a rule in your fan club?”

“I’m not in his fan club,” Mitch says. “If anything, I lead the anti-fan club.”

“Cool, get out of my flat.”

Mitch just shrugs and makes his way around Louis. “See you again soon, I’m sure.”

“No,” Louis calls out over his shoulder, and then he turns back to Harry, who’s resumed putting things away. “Didn’t know you even knew where things went in a kitchen.”

Harry scoffs. “I know better than you. Have you ever cooked a day in your life?”

“Of course I have!” He’s cooked at least four times. “Don’t be a twat.”

Harry closes the cabinets and then, with a flourish, pulls out a mug from the bag and places it on the counter beside him. 

Louis zeros in on it and tries to breathe. It’s his favourite yellow mug from the palace. Harry brought it here. Harry’s giving him this mug. Louis could cry. 

Instead, he hardens his face and says, “What’s that supposed to be?”

“It’s your favourite mug.”

“Don’t have a favourite mug, mate.”

“Would you like some tea?” Harry asks, turning around and flicking on the kettle. 

“No, I’d like you to fuck off.”

Harry opens a cabinet back up and takes out Louis’ tea bags. “You’re no sugar, splash of milk, yeah?”

“Actually I’m no sugar and  _ get the fuck out of my flat _ . Think that’ll fit into a mug?”

Harry has the audacity to laugh. He turns around, dimples out because he’s smiling so hard. “God, I love you,” he says, and it sends a shock through Louis’ entire body. “Even when I’m angry at you, I love you so much I almost can’t stand it.” 

“Well,” Louis braces himself. Keeps his face hard and his voice even. “I don’t love you, so you can go.”

“Gemma fired Simon,” Harry says, like he’s telling Louis what the weather will be tomorrow. “And there’s going to be an ethics investigation against him.”

“If that’s what she feels is best, I trust Her Highness has good judgement. Unlike you, who apparently thinks I won’t call the guard on you for trespassing.”

“I was fuming when you left,” Harry says, completely ignoring him. “So angry that you thought that you could just lie to me and leave. Lie to me really poorly too, honestly Lou, it’s like you put no effort into it at all.”

“What makes you think I lied to you?”

“You try extra hard to keep your face neutral, but your ears go up.”

Louis scoff. “They do not.”

“Interesting,” Harry says, humming. “They didn’t do it that time. You must actually not know you have a tell.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know, that’s what I just said.”

Louis lets out a frustrated yell. “I want you to leave.”

“You like chicken, yeah?” Harry asks. He turns and goes to the refrigerator. “I bought ingredients to make fajitas. I was going back and forth on shrimp, but I wasn’t sure if that would be something you liked.”

“You’re an absolute psycho.”

“There is steak, of course, but I didn’t have time to really look for a proper butcher, so I figured this would do.”

Louis feels tears prickle at his eyes.  _ No no no.  _ He will not cry. He will not cry in front while watching the man he loves talk nonsense about fajitas and ignore Louis for the millionth time in less than five weeks. 

“You never  _ listen to me,”  _ Louis shouts. “It’s like I’m not here! Always like I’m not here. I hate you so goddamn much. I just want you to leave me alone. Just leave me alone, Harry!” 

And suddenly Harry is right up on him hugging him close to his chest. Louis’ trying to push away but he can’t, he’s so tired and his body just wants to be held. He tries, anyway.

“You love me,” Harry says. 

“I fucking  _ hate  _ you.”

“Yeah, but you love me more.”

Tears are actually threatening to fall now. “I don’t,” Louis says emphatically, pushing against Harry’s chest, “you need to go. I never want to see you again. I told you it was one night and that was it, why can’t you accept that?”

“I know you’re upset, Darling, and I know you think I don’t listen to you. But I do. I just won’t listen when you try to lie to me.”

Louis finally shoves himself out of Harry’s hold and shouts. “It’s done, get out.”

“It’s not,” Harry says.

“It is!”

“I know you have a hard time saying it, Louis, but I know you love me. I know because you worked nearly twice as much as you were obligated to trying to turn my image around. I know because you kept that toy bus and you brought it to the palace and you were near raging when you thought I’d stolen it. I know because when you were asleep in my arms last night you clung to me like you were scared I was going to leave.”

Louis feels something inside of him crack. And he’s not sure if it’s more or less painful that the cracking he felt five years ago. 

“If I thought you wouldn’t interrupt me after the first minute, I’d spend hours telling you all the things I love about you. Days, even. Keep telling you how much I love how generous you are, and that I love your laugh and the way your eyes crinkle at the sides when you love something, and how you’re so fucking beautiful it’s hard to look at you sometimes.”

More painful. Definitely more painful. 

“We’ll figure it out, Darling, we will. Your PR brain is probably going a thousand thoughts a minute about how to dig ourselves of this one, but you quit PR for a reason, yeah? So don’t stress. And I don’t care if I have to distance or even completely remove myself from the crown, I will. Because I spent five years without you and it was the most painful time of my life. I don’t even want to go five hours without you, now, I can’t stand the thought of forever.” 

“Shut  _ up _ .” 

And for what feels like the first time, Harry listens to Louis. 

There’s no sense in hiding it now, he’s crying. But he’ll try to pass it off as anger tears. He thinks he can do that. He has to. “Do you know why I left my job, Your Highness?”

Harry doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even move. Just waits. 

“I left my job because I couldn’t stand the sight of you. Everywhere. On the bloody cover of every magazine and newspaper. It made me sick.”

Louis is ready to see hurt and maybe a bit of anger. 

What he doesn't expect to see is a look of relief. A smile. Like Louis’ just confessed his love and not told him off for making Louis ill at the thought of him. 

“Oh, Darling.”

“No! No, aren’t you listening? I couldn’t bear to look at you, I never wanted to see you again. Your stupid face always smiling out at the world like they deserve you.”

And...oh. Oh no. 

Harry steps towards him and backs him against the wall. “It’s okay, Darling.”

Louis is sobbing now. “I don’t want it.”

“I know, it’s okay.”

“Why do you have to make things so hard?” he says on a whisper. 

Harry fits his massive hands around Louis’ face and forces him to look up, meet his eyes. 

Quietly, Harry says, “Because I love you.” He rubs a thumb softly against Louis’ jaw. “And I know you love me. I’ve been with you nearly every day for five weeks, Louis. I’ve been pining after you for five years. You think I would just let you go? When I know you love me too? I can’t. I won’t.”

“What can I do to convince you?” Louis says to his own hands, clutched to his chest in fists. 

Harry lets out a sigh. “If you can look me in the eye, right now, and tell me you don’t love me —and mean it— I’ll leave. I’ll leave and never bother you again.”

Louis braces himself and tears his gaze away from his hands. It’s for the best, he has to. He looks directly into Harry’s eyes and spends a few seconds grounding himself to say, “I don’t love you.” It comes out even and sure. He almost believes it himself. 

But Harry doesn’t. Harry looks at him with a lopsided grin on his face, as if to say  _ nice try.  _

“Do you want to try again?” Harry asks. Condescending piece of—

Louis looks up again and says, “I don’t love you.”

Harry lets out a little laugh. 

“Fuck,” Louis shouts and stops a foot on the ground. “Motherfucking, shit.” 

“Again?” Harry says.  _ Taunts. _

“I  _ don’t  _ love you,” Louis says again. 

Harry smiles down at him fondly, scratching lightly at the hair under Louis’ ears. Louis’ hands come up and grip hard at Harry’s wrists. 

“I don’t love you!” Louis yells forcefully. 

Harry sighs happily and keeps looking at him. The arrogant little shit. Always winding Louis up. Just ignoring him and pushing his buttons and knowing exactly how to get under Louis’ skin. 

“I don’t fucking love you!” 

“Almost there,” Harry whispers. It’s fond. Unbelievably fond and full of lightness and warmth and—

And Louis just breaks. 

“I fucking love you!” he yells, sobbing. 

“Yeah,” Harry says, and he caresses Louis' face. “You’ve got it now.”

Louis surges forward to connect their lips, even as he sobs some more against his mouth. He clutches onto his forearms while Harry just kisses and kisses and kisses him, like he can’t get enough.

He pulls away just far enough to say, “It hurts too much, Harry.”

“Not more than not being together, Lou.”

Louis kisses him again fiercely, because he’s right. And Louis hates that he’s right. “Everywhere,” he says against his mouth, still kissing in between every few words. “Everywhere I went it was all anyone could talk about. You, all the time, and I tried, but it hurt.”

“I know, Darling.”

“My entire job, all the time, people would talk. I tried to ignore it. I couldn’t.” He’s saying nothing now, but it seems like Harry gets it. “I quit. I had to. And then—”

“Shh, Darling, it’s okay,” Harry says, nuzzling into his cheek before placing a soft kiss there. “It’s okay. We’ll talk later, yeah? Just let me hold you.”

“I love you,” Louis sobs out. 

Fuck. 

Fuck, it feels so good to finally say it. To finally admit it after so long. He feels a weight lift from his shoulders and it sounds and feels and is cliche but Louis loves it. Loves it. Finally, he’s allowed to love it. 

“Love you so much,” Harry says back. After another minute of kissing, he laughs again. “Fuck, you were right.”

Louis looks up questioningly. 

“There are better things from your mouth.”

Louis laughs, because he can’t help it. 

Later, after Louis goes and asks his mates to leave (politely) and they smile at him knowingly, he and Harry’ll talk about it all. Louis will let Harry just hold him as they talk about what they’ve done and what they need to do and how they could possibly fix it. Harry’ll joke that it’s lucky he fell in love with someone who’s so good at repairing public images, and Louis’ll try to laugh but will just end up crying some more. 

Harry’ll kiss him through all of it, and call him Darling at least a hundred more times that night. Louis will cry a little every time he does, thinking of how he tried to push away from this, from the man in his arms that knows him better than he knows himself. He tried, and that didn’t work for them, he reasons. No use in trying that again. 

Being kissed by Harry, however, yeah that'll work every time. Louis thinks he’ll stick with that strategy. Hopefully for the rest of his life. 

“Say it,” Harry says, kissing him again against the kitchen wall. “Say it all together.”

And Louis thinks about pretending he doesn’t know what Harry means. Thinks about making Harry say what he wants Louis to say, because this situation has made Louis cry a lot today, so the least Harry could do is feed him his line. But he doesn’t, because he wants to say it just as bad as Harry wants to hear it. 

Louis gives him a soft peck, closing his eyes as he says, “I love you, Harry.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! My timeline got a little out of wack at some point and I forgot to go back and fix it lol, so I hope it wasn’t distracting. 
> 
> Kudos/comments are cherished and appreciated if you're moved to do so!  
> If you've got questions, I'm happy to try and answer via tumblr, but pls no PR questions, I know nothing. 
> 
> I'm on tumblr [here](https://absoloutenonsense.tumblr.com/). You can [reblog the moodboard here](https://absoloutenonsense.tumblr.com/post/613768635483291648#notes)!
> 
> Note: I’m not really one for epilogues, but I do have one in-progress that I’ll post when completed, but I'm not sure when that'll be.
> 
> EDIT: Thank you all for the sweet comments! I get a touch anxious about replying to all of them; just know I see them all and appreciate them so much!  
> Stay safe, stay inside, wash your hands, be mindful, love y'all. <3
> 
> 6/20/2020 - Update about [the epilogue fundraiser for Brave Space Alliance can be found here](https://absoloutenonsense.tumblr.com/post/621828299932450816)!   
> UPDATE - As of 8/23/20, the epilogue has been posted! It's the next work in this series, called "It's Always Better When We're Together".


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